


Hundred Days Till the End

by ScarletSprings



Series: Devotion Series [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-07-06 23:51:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15896664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletSprings/pseuds/ScarletSprings
Summary: Clarke Griffin is determined for the human race survive the second coming of nuclear fall out.Excerpt-He turned his face towards her, serious and intent, though he remained leaning casually against the wall. Clarke shivered at the grimness of his eyes.“Marry me.”





	1. Just Breathe

Hundred Days till the End 

Day 100, continued, Polis, Evening 

With both Nathan and Charlotte tended to, and the rest of Skaikru largely unharmed, Clarke cleaned up. Washing with left-over, and now cold, water, she hurried out of her now stained clothes. At Charlotte's hopeful encouragement, she slipped into the gleaming golden dress with a sigh. Her little apprentice never asked about the scars, and by now her and Nathan both had seen them many times. But standing in front of the murky, old mirror, Clarke's eyes were locked on them. There was no way that wouldn't draw more attention than she wanted. With a grimace, she dug through the clothes provided by Lexa until she found something that might could pass. Thinner than could be considered practical for riding, or even walking much, and too tight to do much of anything in, the gleaming black leather leggings were something she'd overlooked till now as frivolous. And truly, they were. But sliding them on, with difficulty, Clarke assessed how they looked in the mirror, and decided it would work. The gorgeous gown, only one she'd ever worn, did not have to be completely abandoned. 

“You sure you don't want to go downstairs? Costia's aunt has turned the entire ground floor into an infirmary rather than have everyone carried to the center.” urged Clarke, lingering in the doorway. 

Rolling his eyes, Nathan shook his head. 

“I've finally got rid of my dad. Go. I just want to sleep for a week. It's just a scratch, seriously.” announced the boy in her bed grouchily. 

“I'll stay.” piped in Charlotte from the sitting area. The young second was now dressed in clean leggings, and an overly large tunic that let the thick, tan bandages over her shoulder peek out. Her feet were up on the table near her still steaming mug of tea, and she was snuggled down with a thick wool blanket, looking rather more content than seemed possible after such a night. 

Throwing a smile towards the younger girl, Clarke backed down. 

“Just got to make an appearance, alright? Then I'm coming right back up.” assured the weary leader, trying, and falling just short of, sounding confident in that plan. 

A last reluctant glance at them both, she turned to leave. 

“Look, stay by Wells or Blake. Either of them.” blurted out Nathan. 

Without looking back, she titled her head slightly to the side as she considered his words. 

“Surely we've met our quota for disaster till sunrise at least.” joked Clarke halfheartedly. 

Night had fully set- frigidly cold, though few seemed to notice. There was singing in the market square, and dancing in the streets. Those rough flutes that Rock Line brought, high and pretty. So many different drums from the other clans, all sizes and shapes, scattered here and there. Wine ordered by Heda flowed freely from massive, heavy barrels. Dozens of odd tables, set together, covered in food- dripping, roasted meats smelling of rosemary and thyme, butter drenched breads still warm, sweet fruits drizzled with honey... 

Descending from the blood soaked tower, where the injured and the dead alike had been carried from Lexa's hall, down into the open air celebration was enough to make Clarke's head spin from disorientation. The injured were being tended to by a swarm of healers, but Clarke wouldn't be able to relax until she was able to rejoin the efforts. Guards bellowed for quiet, until most everyone was staring at the foot of the tower, where Heda stood. Lexa's smirk had turned smug in the seconds she'd had to observe her people's good spirits, and she raised her arms proudly. 

“We welcome the fourteenth clan!” 

The people's bated breathe seemed to expel as one in a roar of thrill- boisterous from the wine, well fed at Lexa's command, they met the news eagerly. 

Grateful, at least, that grounders weren't given to the long speeches the Ark had boasted, Clarke tried to melt off into the crowd once Lexa had finished her announcement. Even as she wound throuh the crowd, though, she felt as if she could still feel her mother's eyes- horrified, heartbroken, furious, upon her, heavy as standing with the cross-hairs of a rifle's sight. 

“We raised them to be this way.” murmured Marcus Kane. 

Abby watched her daughter, her pride and joy, sashay through the crowds of violent, primitive people, seemingly at ease, as if this was simply a gathering up on the Ark. She missed the moment, though, when Clarke circled around, and hurried back into the tower. 

100 days till the End 

After the ugly turn at breakfast, her mother with tears washing her face even as she raged ending the meal before Clarke had managed to get more than two bites in, Clarke seemed to trip over an Arkadian no matter where she went. 

Even the guards' training yards were not a safe refuge. The entire lot of Arkadians uncertainly appeared, looking rather lost, as Clarke had sat on the ground, a safe distance back, as her people sparred with Lexa's. To the far left, Wells was calmly sparring with the woman, Suri, that Lexa had introduced Clarke to only days before. To the right, Bellamy was more intensely facing a Sandakru man that Clarke thought she'd heard someone call Jorum. Beyond them, Harper was cheerfully sparring with Zavian of Glowing Forest, while Monroe was aggressively working with a Rock Line guard Clarke didn't know even by sight, and she didn't recognize Lincoln's partner either. 

Directly in front of her, though, after it had taken a moment to recognize him with dirt obscuring his prominent scar, Octavia's opponent was Wade of Blue Cliffs. 

The Arkadians, the others hesitantly following the most curious, Marcus Kane, formed a huddled row near Clarke. Jaha's eyes were locked to his son, but the others were hastily sweeping the yard with wary disdain on their faces. 

The dark haired nightblood was not sheathing her claws- blood, only red, was already smearing across them both- his face, her hands... 

“It's only been three months since you landed.” whispered Kane to Clarke, looking quickly from the sparring match that was swiftly progressing into an actual fight, to the blonde girl at his side, and back again. 

Though the blonde knew that Octavia had already gone two rounds with others this morning, she was beating the tall, broad grounder with a vicious energy that belied the previous exertions. 

“Octavia is not the girl under the floor anymore, or the only surviving second-born from the Ark. Not even just our ambassador. That's Skaikru's champion there.”

That week, with her mother in the tower, Clarke found reasons not to be anywhere around it. This meant avoiding her own people, too, but that wasn't enough to change her mind. Out in the cold sunlight of the city, she wandered. Breathing in the city air- mingled scents of fish cooking, rust, and sweat, and so much else she couldn't identify Even this, she would miss, during their time under the ground. At all times, just beyond her elbow, trod a shadow. This week, it was Caliban, for Nathan and Charlotte were both, grudgingly, resting, and the rest all occupied with actually important activities, unlike her. She accomplished nothing, in fact. At least, the older Trikru man was a mostly quiet presence. Apart from helpful, sudden comments on which streets to avoid, or spots she might like to see, he allowed her to drift, both her mind, and her feet. Memories of before, and risks still to be dealt with, rose and fell from her thoughts with an oddly detached sense... 

Simply exploring a city that was soon to fall to ruins. It was like, Clarke mused as she slowly nibbled on a bit of warm cheese-crusted bread that Caliban had procured from the bakery they stood in front of, being in Rome despite knowing it would soon burn. The cluttered, dirty streets somehow seemed so much more.. alive. 

94 days till the end 

A knock sounded on her door, and Clarke out called for the person to enter. 

Stiffly, Caliban opened the door, but did not enter, remaining in the doorway instead. 

“The Arkadian party has left Polis, with a guide to assist them back to their settlement.” spoke the gruff man. 

“Thank you for letting me know.” replied the sky princess with a brief smile. 

“Will you return to your camp now?” asked Caliban shortly. 

Clarke crossed the room to stand closer to him. 

“Tomorrow, I guess. Heda wants to meet today, so I doubt we'd have time to make it home after.” 

With a short nod, he retreated from her room. The solitude left Clarke to muse, once again, on the surprising visit from Indra late the night before. 

Bluntly, hardly closing the door behind herself after being admitted, and utterly ignoring Nathan where he sat, still eating a late dinner, the commander's most trusted general had informed Clarke that the Trikru warrior, nearer Indra's age than Clarke's, would pursue her, if she decided to allow him to do so. Admittedly, though Titus had already revealed this, Clarke wasn't sure if she was more embarrassed at the topic that she would have liked to forget, or that Indra had brought it up. The fierce warrior, one of the greatest she knew, was hardly the person she would have expected a discussion of... romantic variety with. Then again Indra did have a daughter only a little older than Clarke, so perhaps it shouldn't be as shocking. 

Flushing, and cursing the nightblood that made it more obvious than her fair skin already would, Clarke had awkwardly said she would consider the issue. With a smirk at the skai prisa's embarrassment, Indra had silently nodded before letting the subject end. Curious if Lexa had known about this, but unwilling to ask, Clarke tried to push the situation out of her head. 

93 days till the end 

As Clarke walked out of room, leaving Nathan still dressing in the candlelight, on her way to meet Caliban out front of the tower, a sharp call of her name made her pause. 

Monty was coming around the corner, waving at her, and she stopped to smile at him sleepily. 

“I'm glad I caught you!” he blurted out as soon as he drew close enough to talk.

When she waited for him to continue, he frowned. 

“We've missed you this week.” admitted her friend, more quietly than before. 

She grimaced apologetically, shifting restlessly at the nudge of guilt. 

“Sorry, it... was just a bit much. Having my mom here.” 

Frowning again, though more in concern this time, Monty bit his lip, now uncertain if he wanted to bother her with this... but finally drawing up the nerve... 

“Harper wants me to learn how to do tattoos.” blurted out Monty, wide-eyed. 

Clarke titled her head, unsure of what she was supposed to say about that random bit of information being thrown at her so early in the morning. 

“Because the grounders do it.” added the Argo boy desperately. 

“Uhhh....” hesitated Clarke. 

“You could, like, say, that Skaikru doesn't do that. I mean, not all the clans do. Like Azgeda, right?” 

Ruffling her brows, she frowned at him. 

“Well, I mean, you're right, but Azgeda does facial scarification instead, so I'm not sure that's a... better... example?” 

He grimaced. 

“Still. You could ban it.” insisted the younger Skaikru imploringly. 

She shook her head. “You don't have to learn how, but I'm not just going to forbid it. They probably wouldn't listen anyway, and they'd be pissed that I tried to stop them.” 

His shoulders slumped in disappointment, so she reached over to hug him. 

“I'll be back in a few days, ok? I just want to make the ride with Bellamy, and Monroe.” she assured him before she took her leave.


	2. Bad Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad Blood by Bastille 
> 
> Life has been crazier than normal lately. Sorry for the delay. Last weekend, I decided I would post Chapter 2 by Thursday 10/18/18, NO MATTER WHAT. Sooo... here it is.

93 Days to the End con't 

Polis 

Through the hallways, into the lift, and out into the grim, murky predawn outside, Monty followed Clarke. With her slumped shoulders and heavy eyes, she didn't seem to notice. It wasn't like her to show her weariness so frankly. Standing out of the way, the younger delinquent watched as she slung her shoulder bag over the rough saddle, before throwing herself up in the hasty, awkward way that was all determination, rather than finesse. 

Shifting about restlessly, she glared around, from where the Trikru men were already sitting stiffly upon their own horses, to the tower's entrance, from which neither Bellamy nor Monroe had emerged yet. She spotted him then, summoning up a fond smile, and short wave, which he returned shyly. 

A yawn escaped her, and after, she kept her eyes closed, as if resting even perched on her little mare. 

It was too early, probably, to go knocking on the healers' center door. When she looked away again, turning halfway around in her saddle to dig through her bag, Monty wandered away, deep in thought. 

 

Polis 

The commander looked over the assembly critically. She had ordered the fourteen chairs to make a tight half-circle, just before her dais. Never before had them come together in such closeness. The newcomers were most likely unaware of this, but Octavia kom Skaikru, seated between Indra kom Trikru and Uzac kom Broadleaf, already knew what was coming. The sky girl looked bored and restless, her gaze swooping around the otherwise empty room. Several seats away on the other side of the demi-lune, David kom Arkadia, with creased brow, hands gripping the armrests unconsciously, on his own in diplomatic matters for the first time, as the Skaikru advisers had held his hand until now. In the middle, the farthest chair from her throne, sat the empty Azgeda seat. 

Both Skaikru and Arkadia had been stripped of their communicative devices, and from now until they were safely ensconced within the sanctuaries, the ambassadors would be under heavy watch. 

At her side, stood the flame-keeper, as always, but she had intended for Wanheda to take the opposite position, for she too, as the commander, as the flame-keeper, was above a mere clan. Yet Clarke had rushed from the city before the morning had even truly began, her guards informed her. She should be here. 

“Today, we come together, for the first time, to contemplate the end of our world, and the beginning of a new era.” announced Lexa slowly, meeting each of their eyes in turn as she spoke. 

 

On the way to Hundred Camp 

The farther they got from Polis, the more Bellamy relaxed. She had not started the ride in a good mood to begin with, and yet the grumpier Monroe became. By the time they'd remounted after a brief break mid-way, Clarke was wearily annoyed with herself that she hadn't suggested the gunner stay back in Polis. Putting a day's distance between the angry girl and oblivious Bellamy would have been the smarter thing. 

Stomach churning unpleasantly, Clarke squirmed in her saddle. Again. 

 

“Hey Bellamy? Clarke?” the radio crackled to life. Wick's voice came through, tight, and tense, and chills spread down their spines. 

“Got a bit of a-” there was a broken pause -”development here.” 

None of the riders could make out much sense of the background noise, but Octavia's sharp, irritated tones came through. Not the actual words she was barking out, however. 

“We're here,” answered Bellamy loudly, even as he tried to stop his horse one-handed, and uncertain. 

“Go ahead, Wick,” - Clarke.

She leaned in closer, edging her mare next to Bellamy's. Caliban held up a hand to his men, and they stopped, a few feet back. Giving the illusion of privacy at least. 

“The commander is confiscating our radios.” blurted their engineer. “Due to-” 

“Which she would have explained if you had been present for today's meetings,” cut in Octavia- hissing the words close to the radio. 

Clarke grimaced, and Monroe muttered with a smirk about the great wanheda playing hooky. Out of the loop, Bellamy just raised his brows. 

“How'd it go?” asked Clarke. 

A shudder crashed over her at the frustrated huff Octavia expelled. 

“Not great. Could've been worse.” - O

“What does that mean, O?” demanded Bellamy, but the radio went dead. 

Then Wick came back. “We can radio every night, and if there's an emergency. Everything's fine. Watch your six.” 

Silence again, till Octavia came back. 

“Lincoln and I are going with the Floukru ambassador. Leaving tomorrow. Should be back in about a week.” 

With cautions and farewells quickly exchanged, Bellamy grimly slid the radio back onto his belt. Monroe grumbled about Harper, and Clarke tried to slow her heartbeat after the rush of adrenaline. She looked back towards their Trikru escorts with a strained smile and nod. At their acquiescence, she nudged her firmly with her heels to set them back into motion at a smooth run. The overcast grey day seemed all the more dreary now, thought Clarke. Every rustle from the evergreen trees, every voice from people unseen, prickled at the trio of Skaikru as they continued through the paths toward home. 

When the surroundings began to hint at home, Bellamy's face eased, and his shoulders fell loose. By the time they hit the thick woods where they had to slow to a walk, knowing Hundred Camp was only a half-hour further, he was grinning as he kept his head on a swivel. Conversely, Monroe's mouth bunched tighter into a pout, and her gaze fixed firmly away from him. Instead, she rode at Clarke's side, before falling in behind her once the paths narrowed. Leaving Bellamy to the silent, wary company of the Trikru. 

 

Polis, Mid-Morning 

“Um, Miss? Err, Healer?” stammered Monty, flushing and frowning as he tried to think of the most respectful way to address the grounder in front of him. 

Logically, he knew she was only about three years older than him, according to Miller, at least. But there was no way to think at the fierce set of her bare shoulders, covered in spirals of leaves inked into her dark skin, nor the impatient furrow in her brows, or the clenched jaw... and think “just another kid, like me.”

“My name is Costia kom Trikru.” gritted out the older teenager. “And I am a healer's second.” she added tightly, glaring at the Skaikru boy. 

Looking anywhere but at her bright, flashing eyes, Monty nodded urgently. 

“Right. Yes. Of course.” he agreed. 

He stood there, blocking the doorway, and quiet, looking around what he could see of the room around her. 

“Do you need a healer?” asked Costia flatly. 

Monty's gaze snapped back to hers. 

“Uhhh- well, yes, I mean, not need, per say, but I am hoping to ask some questions. I could, um, make an appointment?” he rambled uncertainty. 

Her brows rose, and after a moment, she sighed. 

“Why?” 

“Harper, my, uh, girlfriend, wants a tattoo. But she wants me to do it. And I've never done one. Or seen it done. We didn't do that in space. I mean, total waste of resources. Of course, not down here. But, yea. And I heard that healers do tattoos, so I don't even know if I can learn, but umm..” 

“You want to be trained in marking skin?” asked the young healer's apprentice impatiently. 

“Want is perhaps a strong word for it, but I would appreciate it... I mean, Harper really wants me to be the one who does it even though I have the artistic skill of a snail, and Monroe wants one too...”

“If you do not want to learn, then why do you ask?” bit out Costia, inching backwards, preparing to slam the heavy, creaking door shut in his face. 

He noticed, and flushed, shifting his feet, unsure whether to step forwards, blocking it fully, or get out of the way. 

“She wants me to. And Harper's never really asked me for anything, you know? Besides to stop hogging the pillows, I mean.” blurted out Monty quickly. 

Costia had already begun to swing shut the door, but at the last moment, caught it, and stood there, with her hand gripping the side of it, and it shut enough it was between them. 

She sighed, again. 

“Alright.” she muttered, before she even reopened the door. 

With narrowed eyes, and her teeth still gritted, Costia sharply ushered him inside the healers' center, shutting the door roughly behind him. 

“You are, at least, sixteen years of age, I assume?” demanded the young healer's apprentice, before turning away instead of waiting for his answer.

“Um, yes, of course. Actually, I turned seventeen, a few weeks ago.” 

With a huff that must have meant as accepting his answer, she lead him through the maze of the sunlight only-lit building, upstairs, to one of the smaller rooms. 

“Not only healers perform markings. It is a skill so simple a child could learn, but they are not supposed to be taught, not marked, before they'd survived their first sixteen years.” 

 

Past Nightfall 

“Open the gates! It's Bellamy, and Clarke, and Monroe!” called the kid on watch as soon as they came into the light of his torch. 

As they creakily opened, Monroe darted in the moment there was space enough. The reins of her horse dropped upon the ground, for Bellamy to pick up wearily. Avoiding watching that as much as she could help, Clarke also hurried off her own horse, loosening the girth as soon as her feet hit the ground. It was harder to look the gruff bear of a warrior in the eye now, so Clarke said farewells quickly, with her eyes mostly on her sweaty, still warm horse. Likewise, Bellamy was caring for each of the geldings in turn, loosening the saddles, and easing the bags down off their backs. 

“Two days,” agreed Caliban, then leading his men off into the dark forest towards Ton DC. 

With the gate held open, Sterling and Fox came hustling out, with a few of the younger boys following close behind, elbowing each other for position. Since caring for the horses whenever needed meant getting turns to take them out for rides in the woods when they weren't needed, it was a popular chore for the bravest kids. Monroe had groaned that making the trip to Polis and back would cure them of it though. 

With Bellamy handing the pair over to Fox, and an eager, hardworking fourteen year old from the camp crew, Kade, Clarke was fairly sure, she handed her own reins over to Sterling. Knowing he'd walk the valuable animal well for a slow cool down before getting her settled for the night, she could relax herself. 

Together, with their bags slung over their shoulders, Clarke and Bellamy walked tiredly into camp. Exhausted for the hard ride, but happy to be home, Clarke was grinning as she took in the mellow chaos of the camp, interrupted during dinner. As they came fully into the camp, making the corner, the smile fell over her face, and Bellamy stiffened up so fast he became a statue at her side. 

Faces grim, Atom with his shoulders squared, and Jasper fidgeting with something in his hands, the pair waited with what could only be bad news. 

“Dinner's on.” offered Jasper, a sheepish grin awkward on his face, as if they wouldn't notice the hundred all crowded around the fire with their rough, wood carved bowls, sharing roasted deer, and berries, and onions, as usual, turning to greet them somberly. 

Atom sighed. 

“I'm sorry.” he offered first. 

The boy fell silent a long, drawn out moment, as he struggled to find the words. 

She made herself eat, at Bellamy's nagging and his arm around her shoulder steering her to a log to sit on. A bowl of rations choked down, and she slunk out, avoiding meeting anyone's eyes, to the graveyard. Their dead, lining the wall, contained a fresh grave. At this rate... Already sitting there, was another girl. Clarke lowered her head guilty, walking slowly around till she stood over both Mary and the grave that held Derek. 

“I'm sorry.” murmured Clarke. Hesitantly, she grabbed the other girl's hand, trying to offer something close to comfort. 

Sniffling, then Mary looked up, exposing the silvery tear tracks on her face in the dim light, what little reached them from the torches on the wall. 

“We don't even know what happened,” the Farm Station girl forced out, her voice thick and hoarse from crying. 

After walking Mary back into the dropship for the night, the young mom-to-be exhausted by the crying jags on top of everything else, Clarke returned back to stillness of the dark open space beyond the tight confines of the camp's walls. The forest was never truly silent- there was always the crickets, if nothing else at night. It was close enough for her though, especially after Polis, where even at midnight, people were moving around, patrolling, preparing for the next day, tending to livestock who'd kept them up for one reason or another... 

Sitting with her back against a tree, facing out away from camp, just outside the furthest reaches of the watcher's torches up on the wall... this is where Bellamy found Clarke again. 

“C'mon, you shouldn't be back out here alone.” grumbled the camp leader. 

Her face titled up at him with raised brows, and she shrugged half-heartedly. 

“Not like Azgeda could mobilize their army already. With our luck, their entire army will show the day before we try to move into the bunkers.” muttered the blonde. 

Sighing, he stepped over her stretched out legs to sink down on the other side of her, sharing the tree to lean against. 

“We've got a problem, Princess.” 

Painfully quiet, and deathly serious, Bellamy's voice cut through the relief of coming home. 

“There's always another problem waiting.” thought Clarke, but she only grunted out an acknowledgment. 

“I hung around the fire a while... nobody's happy, and isn't not all about the summit, and Derek.” said Bellamy. 

Procrastinating, he shifted a bit around, nudging his shoulder more into hers as he tried in vain to get comfortable. The bark biting into his back through the layers of his jacket and shirts. Staying silent, with her gaze fixed straight ahead, into the nothingness of the dark forest, where the trees were thick enough to hardly allow any moonlight down, Clarke waited. 

“They um, the kids...” began the one-time guard cadet, seeming to stumble over his words, rarely a problem for a man that was such a brilliant orator. 

“What's wrong, Bell?” pushed Clarke tiredly, ready for her bed, and hoping whatever Bellamy had to say wasn't going to stand between her and that familiar pile of furs for too long. 

“Some of them, they're... uhhh. They're dreaming. About dying. Um, really specific ways of dying.” 

The familiar walls and trees of their home shifted, weaving around her, and Clarke would have dropped to the ground if not for Bellamy lunging forwards to grab her- pulling her to his chest. 

“No!” she denied desperately, but he shook his head, she felt it as his chin brushed over her hair. 

“Why? Why now?” whispered Clarke, still clinging to him frantically. “Why now!” 

Holding her tightly, without even room for a breathe between them, he just shook his head again, not even knowing enough to guess, and she began to cry, not graceful, quiet weeping he'd seen before, but awful shuddering, wretched sobs that made her convulse in his hold. Sucking in a shocked breathe, it took him only another moment to think, and he swept her up into a bridal carry before marching out into the woods as quickly as he could in the darkness with her held to his chest. 

“Nathan's been dreaming, but he never said what about.” - Clarke 

Bellamy swallowed hard. “It's just a few seconds. Most... most probably don't even know where they are, or why.” 

Only once they were far from earshot did he stop, and find a dry spot to set her down before sitting beside her. Still she clung to him when he offered his arms again, and his shirt was soon damp from her grief. 

How much time passed in the darkness, they did not know, only that Bellamy felt as it was an eternity for her to expend the misery of the reminder. He held her close, and every sound from her heartbreak was a cut against his soul. Death by a Thousand Cuts, all from her heart to his very soul. The girl who tried to hold everything together with just her own two hands, he should have done more to help, to take more of the burden from her slight shoulders. Finally, the shudders slowed, and another painful eternity of the sniffles and whimpers as she tried to find her well of control again passed... until finally he thought she'd fallen to slept upon him, and decided they'd stay there for the night. After everything else they'd faced, in this life and the last, the dark forest alone did not feel like something to fear. 

“They all died. All of our people. I failed them all. It was all for nothing. I did horrible things to save us, and I still... I couldn't even save you.” confessed Clarke, her voice roughened and thick from the sobs, breaking through the illusion of her sleep. 

Bellamy sighed, squeezing her tightly, before he loosened enough to pull back so he could see her face. Even in the dark, he could make out her swollen eyes and the pallor of her grief. 

“You didn't fail, Princess. Everything went to hell, and there wasn't anything to be done about it. Nobody knew. You couldn't.”

“This was supposed to be the second chance. Why? Why are they remembering now?” 

“They don't know it's real, Princess.”

“Not yet. But they'll figure it out. Too many of them died together- they'll figure it out when they talk it over.” 

“Nah, Princess, it's a pretty big leap from “weird shared dreams” to “past lives.” It's only their deaths they're dreaming of, nothing else.” assured Bellamy more confidently. 

“So far.” muttered the golden haired warrior princess sullenly. 

She went silent long enough again, that he began to wonder, to hope, that this was the end of it for the night... he was not so lucky. 

“Are you... are you dreaming of your death too?” asked Clarke, her words so low it was hardly a sound at all. 

“Why'd she have to ask? Why can't I just lie to her?” wondered Bellamy in frustration, but he finally caved, as he always felt like he did with her... 

“Yea. Yea, Princess. I am. The last (?) few nights.” 

“How'd it happen?” 

It wasn't a surprise that she didn't know. He knew that now, that they'd been so far apart, her all alone, him far above her in space. Octavia had always said, when pushed to discuss this, that she knew every single human must have died, but Clarke had always hoped that the Go-Sci seven would have survived. 

“We made it to space. You did it, Princess. You got it working, because we were inside.” explained the guard quietly, seriously, as if speaking of his own death didn't horrify him. 

“You died back on the Ark.” whispered Clarke. 

“We just didn't have oxygen for the trip.” 

“Maybe if I'd gotten the satellite aligned sooner-”

“Not your fault. We tried to take up too many people with little oxygen. That's it. If we'd had a couple extra tanks to share...”

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Bell. I'm sorry.” 

Her pleading apologies tore at him, and he gripped her ever tighter, pressing kisses to her hair, swearing her that there was nothing to forgive her for. 

“Everyone's going to know I failed them. Everything's going to fall apart.” whispered Clarke. 

“Skaikru is too tightly bonded for that, ok? We're not going to let things fall apart. We've buried our dead together, we've worked for a hundred days side-by-side, we've bled, we've cried, been scared,and been furious. Watched you go to battle to save our people.” insisted Bellamy. 

As he held her, with his hands gripping too tightly, and his arms like steel bands, she thought about what they must be thinking... what they must think of her... all the mistakes she'd made. 

Blatant lies, and unanswered questions. 

Following Theolonious' example. His belief is making the best decision possible, and hoping for a for a forgiving god still seemed sound... yet she'd crossed terrible lines with it in mind. 

Lying to Arkadia- that false hope that turned the end of the world even more bitter when it was revealed. 

Taking the bunker... she would have given Roan a place inside it, with as many of his people as she could save, but would he have taken it, after her deceptions? 

Repeating her mother's mistakes, really. 

How had she gotten here to this? 

What had twisted her from her father's daughter, to her mother's successor? 

Her mother covered up, hid, whispered, and schemed, and lied... trying desperately to change as little as possible, always. Mount Weather had been terrifying from the very beginning because of that. Sterile, bright, perfect rooms, behind locked doors, and silence... unnatural, smothering silence. The sound of the Alpha med-bay during quarantines. During medicine shortages. 

During medical rationing. 

Death, suffering, treatable, preventable, blatant lies, and unanswered questions. 

This wasn't how she wanted to lead.

She didn't even really want to lead, but she couldn't stop trying. 

They deserved the truth, didn't they? 

The price of existence was constant work- carrying water, boiling it clean, washing their clothes, their few linens, their furs, trying desperately to avoid descending into absolute filth, hunting, processing the kills, preserving all they could, cooking, tending the fires, watching the walls... no one was idle in Hundred Camp for long. Even Mary was still hard at work- often washing, since cooking made her so nauseous. They weren't kids. Not even the youngest of them, not anymore. 

She couldn't repeat her mother's mistakes anymore. A genius, but... selfish. She didn't just want to keep herself and her friends safe... no, she strove to keep them in power. Abby Griffin hadn't just tried to keep her daughter safe, but under control. 

Her father... there was the legacy she wanted to protect. 

Neither perfect, but one could see that a better world for everyone included their daughter. 

One couldn't. 

Clarke broke, tumbling forwards again into Bellamy's arms. Shuddering, she suppressed the urge to sob in order to force out words. 

“We'll tell them in the morning.” 

 

92 Days Till the End 

Dawn came too early. Monroe had grumpily curled into a ball beside Clarke the night before, and Bellamy had retreated to sleep directly below the door's lever. Hearing the watchers' holler out the morning wake-up call, Clarke rolled over onto her back to stretch out. Still beside her, Monroe ducked entirely beneath the ugly, warm blanket she'd claimed. Even with her face buried in the moss stuffed pillow, Clarke could still hear the mumbles issuing from her, and chuckled lowly. No one could curse quite like the red head. 

When she opened her eyes, she found Bellamy already on his feet, stretching languidly. Doubt pinched at her mouth, and tightened her frame as sleepiness fell away. He offered her a lopsided smile in greeting, and threw the lever to lower the door. Across the level, Atom and Collette groaned at the noise, having slept through the watcher's yell apparently. Untangling herself from her boyfriend, Collette sat up, and glared at Bellamy blearily. Which he returned darkly, until Clarke cleared her throat pointedly. 

“Gather everyone up.” ordered Clarke, her voice flat, and her face wiped clear of all her doubt. 

With a hard nod, he crossed the floor to climb half-up the ladder and bang on the hatch, before returning to the open doorway. Down he marched, looking around to see who was already up. 

“C'mon, everyone, get to the fire, now!” 

At Bellamy's roar, sleepy faces peeking out of the cabin's ill-set, creaking door. The boy up on the watcher's ledge by the gate turned to stare over at them, and the flaps of the water tent rustled as one of the crew leader's ducked out hesitantly, water jugs already slung over his shoulders. 

“EVERYONE!” confirmed Bellamy in a booming yell. 

Grumbling, all the kids already up and moving came scurrying, except for a few haphazardly trying to rouse the rest. With a pained groan, Bellamy roughly rubbed his face with both hands. He was doing his best to shape up the delinquents into a solid force, but they usually still acted like the kids they actually were. It took more than a half-hour to round the lot up, but the last fifteen minutes had been spent tracking down a missing couple of delinquents. Sterling and Bree had apparently passed out behind the dropship late last night. With everyone accounted for, Clarke and Bellamy pressed closer to each other, and urged the kids to huddle together. 

Gulping, Clarke eyed the faces in front of her. For the last moment, they were still somewhat...naive. This life, this time on Earth, hadn't been so bad. They still had their home, there had been no skirmishes with Trikru, they hadn't had to suffer under the Ark's Exodus charter... Life was hard, but they were willing to work. The delinquents found a way to be happy enough with it, until the gloominess that had fallen on them. Now, Clarke wondered, how much of it had been about not allowing everyone to walk to Polis, and how much had been the dreams disturbing the peace of their lives. They hadn't yet pieced enough together from their morbid dreams, but she had to be honest with them before they did. 

Her voice shook, but she spoke anyway. 

“I am Jake Griffin's daughter, and I am honoring his legacy. Trusting in the example he set. He was floated for it, but he was right,” 

“For those who don't know, Jake Griffin was the engingeer who discovered the life support failure- MORE THAN A YEAR BEFORE THE ARK CAME DOWN.” added Bellamy gruffly. 

“He wanted to tell everyone so that the Ark could figure out what to do together. The council disagreed. My mother disagreed. He was floated, and because I knew... because I agreed with him, I was put into solitary.” 

She'd never really explained that to the delinquents as a whole, not in the life, and not really even in the other. This time, she'd honor her father better. 

As the sun rose, brightening camp, the faces of her people were losing their sleepy looks, and growing defensive in their wariness. 

“I'm sorry.” she began, hesitating again, “I wish I didn't have to tell you this. I wish it wasn't happening. But it is, and you need to know. There's time to prepare, so please don't panic. We can get through this. Together.” 

Pausing hard, she swallowed hard, and Bellamy grabbed her hand, squeezing it firmly. How lucky Octavia was to have a brother, though Clarke, even as pang, half-guilt, half-grief, struck her deeply- Murphy should be here, if not for her mistakes, he'd be here. Watching her back. Surviving. Whatever it took. 

With a deep breathe, Clarke locked eyes with Monroe, who stood next to Fox at the very front of the crowd, just barely out of arm's reach in front of the pair of leaders. Just as the shorter girl was staunchly ignoring Bellamy, keeping her eyes fixed on the blonde girl. The smile Clarke attempted fell flat. 

“After 97 years, we thought Earth itself was safe, but it is still facing the consequences of the nuclear disaster. The nuclear reactors all over the globe were all equipped with safety mechanisms which delayed meltdowns. But now we are going to have to deal with the fallout, and we can't stop it.” blurted out the young leader. 

As she grit her teeth, watching them take in that shock, Bellamy squeezed her hand tightly, and took over the explanation. 

“A wave of radiation is coming....” 

The very last shreds of nativity left in the hundred shattered... being torn from their faces, and hearts, leaving gaping wounds behind. So young to be so weary. One of the youngest boys, Kade, who loved the horses so much, choked on a sob he couldn't repress, but another boy just tossed an arm over his shoulder in solidarity. Mary began to cry, and Collette wrapped her up in a tight hug... Bree yelped, and tossed herself at Sterling, even as he caught her, he was staring, wide-eyed, at Bellamy. A few of the kids pushed out of the huddle, sinking to their knees, while others dropped down into the dirt, sitting with their faces buried in their hands. The bulk of the number, though... stood. Knees locked, fists clenched, biting their lips, or lips pressed tightly together, shoulders hunching defensively, with their eyes wide, but fixed on their leaders. 

Awaiting orders. 

Ready to hear what could be, what must be, what would be, done. 

A smile crept up Clarke's face finally, though she squashed it as soon as it she realized. From the corner of her eye, she could see Bellamy's face lightening with the same pride that was welling up within her. They could do this. Their people, young and scared, were strong, and stubborn enough to survive. 

“We have ninety days to get ready. We're going to hunt, gather and preserve as much as we can so we can bring a good supply in with us. That's what I'm going to need everyone to be working on.” 

“Space is limited, but everyone standing here has a spot guaranteed. No other clan is small enough to get to say the same thing. So they haven't broken the news yet. Please let their leaders have more time to plan before anyone else finds out. Trikru and Arkadia will get a hundred spots, as will the others.” explained Clarke. 

The smile came creeping back on her face as she could see them beginning to straighten up and stand taller again. Mary sniffled, then gently pulled out of Collette's embrace. A couple of kids behind him snorted and chuckled at something Atom muttered too quietly for Clarke to hear. Monroe huffed impatiently. Even flighty Bree was calming down enough for Sterling to let his arms drop, and little Kade had bit his lip, holding in all but that first sob. 

“So what about-” 

With Sterling's question, the grim silence absolutely failed, and questions poured out of the crowd, unstoppable. None pleasant. Each harder than Bellamy had imagined. The camp that had been so sullen as of late, was coming alive with a horrified urge to survive. 

There, Bellamy spoke up. “We do not have privileged and unprivileged classes here. We're in this together. Our people. Skaikru. We have to depend on each other. Trust each other. Help. Protect. Whether you were forced on the dropship, or like, Wells, Raven, and I, came down by choice. Or like Wick who CHOSE US... We're family now. Clan. All of us, we're bound by that. Our blood, our dead, our home. Our past, and our future. Together.” 

Chants broke out, “Skaikru!” but Clarke held up her branded arm to stop it soon enough. 

“These days... less than a hundred. These days are going to shape our entire future,” reminded the young leader when they finally quieted to listen again. 

“We will get through this. Like Bellamy said, together. Please believe that.” she implored. 

“I lay my head onto the vents. They're still. My chest burns. Everything does. Darkness takes me.” revealed Bellamy, pulling all eyes from her onto him. 

The silence of the crowd goes stiffer, more frightened. 

Catching onto Bellamy's idea, Clarke spoke up again. “I fall to a cold floor. Blisters are covering me, and there's never been anything that's ever hurt so bad. I'm puking blood. I miss my mom. And then it's over.” 

Shrugging blithely, Monroe adds on as the rest as they still gaping. 

“I'm outside, it's daytime, and there's screaming all around. I don't know what's going on. Air's poisoned. Acid fog, maybe. I don't know. Choked to death, it felt like.” 

Another kid speaks up, and another. The fear, the pain, the confusion, pour out from the crowd. When tears begin to pour down Clarke's face, she's far from the only one. Their sins and tragedies are catching up to them even here. Not one of the Hundred have escaped the scars from a life they'd forgotten. 

 

After Breakfast 

 

“Clarke?” 

The timid voice made her look up instantly from the notebook she'd carefully been adding to. 

Walking into the dropship, the tall, thin Bree, and fluffy, brown haired Sterling, with a wide space between them looked decidedly shifty. Barely smothering a groan, Clarke closed the notebook and let it rest on the makeshift exam table. It was never good when one of the delinquents looked this awkward. 

“What's wrong?” asked the young leader, keeping her voice flat, and watching uneasily as they squirmed. 

“Ummm....” stuttered Sterling unhelpfully. 

Bree rolled her eyes at him, forgetting her own anxiety for a moment, and sighed. Only once she'd dropped her gaze back down to the metal floor, was she able to speak. 

With just a nod, Clarke turned away. Rummaging through the supplies she'd brought from the mountain, she pulled out a plastic bag calmly. Grabbed one narrow foil pack from it. Looking back at the two of them, she held it up. 

Not even a half-hour later, she sent the pair on their way out of the dropship. Leaving Bree to Monroe and Fox's hands, who'd been waiting outside the dropship, Sterling grabbed the nearest kid sitting around and started off for Ton DC. 

“Bree's pregnant,” announced Clarke grimly. 

Cringing, Bellamy looked up at the blonde who'd just stormed up the ladder. 

They shared a look- remembering the most awkward days on Earth- when they'd all been contemplating the possible pregnancy of Roma Bragg, following the Sex Ed talks Clarke had forced him to do with the boys, and she'd done with the girls. It wasn't possible to keep from remembering Roma's death not long afterwards. 

“Pregancies will take up spots. We've got to make that clear. To everyone,” continued Clarke. 

Second Dawn 

The engineer hummed as he worked. Raven was fairly sure that was Sinclair's fault, since ever damn engineer she'd ever met that he'd trained, had done so. Now, though, there was just Wick and Monty, and somehow Wick's was more annoying. Louder, maybe, and more off-key. 

“This means I don't have to keep trying to hunt, right?” asked Wick, suddenly, feeling the weight of her annoyed stare. 

“Not like you were of any use from what I saw.” replied Raven, her nose in the air, as she remembered him trailing dejectedly behind the fifteen and sixteen year old kids that filled out the hunting crews back at camp. 

Chuckling, he replied, still out of sight under a desk, banging around far more noisily than she was sure was needed.

“I'll happily admit it so long as Bellamy doesn't drag me out again trying to get me to shape up. Getting left behind was a dream come true.” 

“Well, these rickety old catacombs sure aren't up to Mt. Weather standards,” groused Raven as she glared at a handful of dusty, disconnected wires. 

“Private versus government,” pointed out Wick, singsong, from under one of the long desks. 

“Uhuh, that does not excuse this pathetic tech,” said Raven as she continued trying to rerig the entire section in a more orderly fashion. 

Banging his head, Wick ducked out from under the desk in order to stick his tongue out at her. 

When she ignored that, he tossed a dusting rag at her head.

Snorting, Raven knocked it away from her nose just before it made impact. 

“You saying you won't stay here with me in the rust bucket?” teased the engineer, stll squatting beside the desk but watching her hopefully. 

With a scoff, Raven turned back to her own task. 

“C'mon, Wrench Monkey, we could be happy here, holding this place together with just our hands and all the electrical tape we can find.” 

She snorted again, but refused to look up. 

“Idiot. My name's been top of the list for Mt. Weather since Clarke showed us this dump.” 

“Awww, but blondie won't keep you from joining me if you wanna switch.”

“Which I don't.” countered Raven. 

She sat back, admiring the newly untangled, and reconnected wires, with a smirk. 

Wick waved his arms enthusiastically. “What about me? Besides, this is the big sanctuary- and it's the real challenge. We oughta be here!”

“Pffft. You wanna be with me, you'll know where to find me. Otherwise, see ya in a five years. Sinclair and I'll be just fine.” laughed off Raven.

Jumping to her feet, she began to stalk about the room, searching for her next task. Wick, still squatting beside the desk, gaped at her. Which she steadily ignored. He finally shut his mouth, and slowly, a grin grew on his bristly, sunburned face. 

“Well, I do love you. So sign me up for the cozy little hole.” he announced. 

She froze, with her back to him, interrupted in the process of mentally nitpicking the skimpy command center. 

“You picked me.” she murmured under her breathe, and refused to repeat herself when he obnoxiously asked what she'd said. 

“Good job realizing that I'm right. As usual.” taunted Raven instead, throwing a smirk over her shoulder. 

He laughed, loud and happy, making her soften a bit, the sharp edges melting. 

“Wick, you know,” 

Stalling, Raven bit her lip, sharply, drawing a taste of blood. Her hands shook, so she balled them into fists. He waited, silently, holding his breathe. The silent bunker was an escape from time itself it was so still in that moment. 

“I do love you.” she blurted out. 

There. She'd said it. 

First time ever, she'd said it to any guy besides Finn. 

Cringing at her own awkwardness, she narrowed her eyes. Then leaned closer to the white board in front of her, as if reading the messy scrawled to-do list they'd made only hours before. Behind her, Wick sat down heavy on the ground, and grinned up at her back- the tight, sleek ponytail she rarely freed her hair from- the red bomber jacket she was apparently gonna wear till it fell off her- the shapely legs hidden under heavy-duty, Ark issue cargo pants. 

“You ever gonna call me Kyle?” 

His voice was hoarse, and his eyes gleamed, when she risked an anxious glance back at him. Ducking her lashes, she turned back to the white board, staring at it without any attention on anything it held... 

“Nope.”


	3. Happier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: It's been forever. I'm sorry. RL has just been insane, and I've been rewriting my previous drafts with some major changes for the future of this story. Hope everyone likes this greatly tardy chapter anyway.

Chapter 3: Happier 

(Marshmello ft. Bastille) 

91 days till the end 

Morning 

Hardly a quarter of an hour from Hundred Camp's gate, Caliban's elbow nudged Clarke gently. He was marching at her side, with their companions falling out at ease behind them. When she looked questioningly at him, he slightly nodded up ahead, and to the side of her. Even with the mostly bare trees, other than the patches of evergreens, the bushes and trees were thickly crowded enough that it took a moment to spot the gleam of armor, and dark skin, off in the distance. 

The pair leading the way walked mostly in silence. Caliban's steady gaze swept in each direction as they moved, and Clarke was mainly letting the chatter of Monroe telling Fox, Bree, Sterling, Mary, Collette, and Atom about Polis, and the journeys back and forth, wash over them. Barely noticing the quiet exchanges between Nyko, his son, and the pair of warriors that had flanked Caliban when they arrived at the back of the group, she still made sure their party didn't spread out too far apart, keeping the pace slow enough to accommodate Mary's slow steps in the middle of the group. Each time they came into sight of one of Triku's watchers, chosen by Anya from her most trusted men and women in Ton DC, Caliban would point them out discretely to Clarke. Only a few of them were close enough for her or any of the rest of Skaikru to notice on their own. So many, and so closely set, Clarke was willing to bet they could always see at least two of their fellows at any given time. Trikru, Lexa, was taking no chances. Azgeda, whether or not any of them remembered, would not get anywhere near the mountain in this life. 

With the gruff warrior at her side, never beyond arm's reach, and the forest full of Anya's own chosen loyal, Clarke walked at ease. 

In this moment, she felt safe. Unbidden, Clarke laughed, soft and low, and when Caliban eyed her curiously, a smile twitched beneath his sharp, dark eyes. 

“Thank you, Caliban kom Trikru. If I said thank you a thousand times, it wouldn't be enough,” she confessed softly, locking her bright blue gaze upon his face, even as they walked carefully. 

The thick, damp floor of the woods was heavily coated in the slowly decaying leaves. It made for an odd, muted rustle as their large group trod upon them. 

“I feel the sun on my face, the cold breeze of fresh air rushing past, I smell the forest, musty but alive. Just lying in wait for spring. In this moment, I am free. All my life on the Ark, Earth was the dream. Even... well, if... this all falls apart... I never imagined I would walk in a forest, safe and surrounded by allies... and friends. In this moment, I am free,” 

As she spoke, focusing on the intense gaze of the man she couldn't help but feel guilty over, no matter the changes, Clarke did not realize the silence that fell on the group trailing them. 

Caliban looked around them, less warily this time, he tried to see the world through her eyes- so young, so new to this land, but oh so magnificent... 

“Wanheda, I am honored by you,” he murmured, more conscious of the listening audience, but looking back in time to catch a wide smile flashing across her face. 

“As I am honored by you, and Trikru, and our alliance. Our friendship,” returned Clarke, low, but reverent, as she lifted her gaze to the sunshine coming through the bare branches before them. Feeling the sun on her face, trying to soak in enough of it to last for a half decade. Slowly, the cheerful hum behind them resumed, and Clarke smiled over at the man at her side again. 

On either side of the great door of the mountain, stood two Trikru men Clarke recognized- they'd accompanied Indra to Arkadia, a lifetime ago. They'd been two of the unit that had backed her at Indra's direction when she'd defied her mother, and wrestled control of Emerson from the chancellor. Her nod to them as she led the way into the bunker was respectfully deep. What had become of these men, who'd not seen more than once or twice after that... shamefully, Clarke realized, she had no idea. Crossing the threshold, shiver went down her spine, as it always did when she dared to walk where she'd slaughtered an entire civilization. 

She stepped to the wall, and turned to watch the group follow her inside, Caliban first, taking a place at her side against the wall with a smirk. 

Following behind Bree, and Sterling, Mary froze in the great, wide door frame. Her face was pale, and thin, and Clarke bit her lip at the thought that the young mother looked as though she'd seen a ghost. 

It was only surprising not all of them did. 

Opening her mouth, words failed, catching in Clarke's throat. She could not urge somebody inside of this place. Instead, she looked anxiously to Monroe, and Fox, as they parted to come in on either side of Mary. With a brusque nod, Monroe caught hold of Mary's arm on her side, and hauled her forwards slowly. 

Mary groaned, but once through the threshold, looked down and continued under her own power forwards. 

Clarke turned sharply away, to lead them on in. 

Their footsteps echoed in the halls of smooth stone and cold metal. 

The maternity wing of Mt. Weather was not connected to the main medical facilities, but it was located close by. It's waiting room was tiny- just two heavily worn, matching pastel paisley sofas, squeezed in front of a small secretary's desk. 

Behind the desk, a key-coded door waited, and Clarke entered, thanks to Monty's previous visits. The long, narrow hall ran to each side, with five doors each left and right. 

To Clarke's right, labeled doors announced the six bed maternity ward, a two doctor's office, and two multi-purpose procedure rooms whose large, equipped status revealed easily that they were used for everything from GYN exams to labor and delivery. To the left, a two bed quarantine unit, the operating suite, the tiny, but clearly efficient NICU, a storage room, and the lab. 

Unlike the salvaged, thrown together OB facilities on the Ark, this compact wing, though a century old and heavily used nature, had been specifically designed. It had been state of the art at the time of the Catalyst, Clarke knew instinctively. 

Once Caliban and his men, along with the eager, curious Artigas, and Monroe, with Atom and Sterling, had swept the wing- as if someone could possibly sneaked inside, with what looked like half of Ton DC surrounding the mountain on watch, Clarke shooed the most of the group back to the tiny waiting room.   
Encouraging Nyko, Bree, Sterling, and Mary to follow her, and smiling when Collette came to walk at Mary's side, Clarke calmly began to explain the purpose, and possibilities of each suite within the wing. The two multi-purpose rooms, though mostly still white and metal, had faded decorations of soft pink and blue. Wide, lockable cabinets covered every inch of the wall that they possibly could of the long rooms. Just inside the door was a sink for scrubbing, and counter space, totally bare, for supplies. The back of the room was curtained off, and when pushed back, the washed out pink and blue checked curtain revealed a neonatal assessment and care station. The high, tiny exam table, and the newborn warmer made a wave of nauseous start in Clarke's stomach. Every child she'd killed, had been born here. To mothers who'd treasured them... held HOPE for them... which Clarke had burnt away. 

Coughing a bit, she forced away those thoughts. 

“This would be the best possible place to have your baby,” pointed out the young leader smoothly, glancing back at the little huddle of Skaikru teenagers, looking terribly out of place in the birthing room- from their young faces, to their furs and the Trikru-gifted swords, Mt. Weather had never had expecting parents anything like these. 

Pointedly touching nothing, the great bear of a Trikru healer was eyeing the levers and parts of the adjustable bed with great suspicion. Across the room, Bree was looking rather eagerly at the deep tub that took up a huge chunk of the long room, while Sterling seemed frozen in the doorway of the room. Meanwhile Collette was curiously looking over the molded plastic birth stool, and the puddle of deflated yoga ball, and the rest of the few supplies too large to be tucked inside a cabinet. Shoulders hunched, Mary was standing beside the rolling equipment tray that had been left abandoned in the center of the room. Her face had only grown more conflicted, her lip, chapped, Clarke realized faintly, bit till it lost color. 

“It's just... not home,” demurred Mary, her eyes locked down on the white tile floor that had yellowed with age. 

“It's a graveyard,” is what Clarke heard though. 

“Running water, warming trays, resuscitation equipment, medications...” listed off Clarke flatly, even as she crossed the room to start at the cabinet nearest the door. 

“I wouldn't want to walk through the woods in labor,” pointed out Mary, ignoring Collette's attempts to pull her over to check out the tub, where Bree had sat down on the side of. 

With a thoughtful hum, Clarke continued to rummage methodically, top to bottom, through the hidden supplies- finding everything from hand soap to newborn size clothes as she went along. 

“So you could move in here once you're a bit closer.” suggested the young leader. 

“We wouldn't leave you here alone. Of course, you could ask whomever you wanted to stay here too,” assured Clarke, when she glanced back over at Mary, and saw her horrified expression. 

“Places are not evil. New life could revive this place,” murmured Nyko kindly, even as he hesitantly leaned closer to examine the infant warmer. 

With both of the expecting mothers weighed, blood samples, and hesitantly brought to the lab to be tested, with Nyko on her heels, silently taking it all in, Clarke then searched the storage room, making mental notes- every piece of equipment she could have imagined, but very low stock of all medications. 

Mary had been left with Collette in the first room, and Bree sent off with Sterling to get comfortable in the second. Ultrasound machine, neatly ready on a rolling cart, in tow, Clarke knocked on the door, and a moment later, pulled the cart inside, nodding her head to get Nyko to follow her. 

On the bed, leaning back slightly, Mary and Collette had their heads close together, talking intently, but both straightened up when Clarke entered the room. 

“My first prenatal patient,” realized Clarke, a flash of panic rising, brief, but strong, so out of her depth she didn't know which way was up. It passed, with a deep breathe steadying herself, but she smiled awkwardly at the pair waiting anxiously in front of her. With another centering breathe, she wheeled the cart into place beside the bed, and began to get ready. 

Collette watched her silently for a moment, before she resumed chattering cheerfully to Mary- gushing about names (Clarke really hoped Mary didn't take Collette's suggestion about naming the baby “River,”) and whether or not she'd have a boy or girl. The flood of words tugged Mary's attention back to her friend, and left Clarke to fumble about in a little less pressure. In the drawer nearest the bed, she found the clear gel, that made Mary whimper at the coldness, and in the one below it, a sterile drape she used to tuck Mary's grounder-made drawstring pants down low enough. 

Slowly, pushing through the uncertainty of acting way above her pay-grade, Clarke finally had everything arranged, and with a look encouraging Nyko to step closer, she pressed the wand, feather-light, against the taunt swell of belly before her. It took a second before she remembered it ought to be pressed firmer, and Clarke adjusted carefully, feeling Mary shift in response, and then a squirm of the child within made her gasp. Mary smiled, proud, and shy, and hopeful. Clarke grinned back. 

The ultrasound machine she found was higher quality than the Ark had dreamed of- small and portable, but once she got it going, the picture quality was amazing, and it was easier to use- idiot-proof, Jackson might have whispered under his breath to her behind her mother's back, had this been what they'd learned to use in space. The monitor was small, but startlingly clear. 

Gazing carefully at the screen, and rolling the wand slowly across Mary's belly, Clarke chewed her lip, blocking out the feel of all the eyes, wary, and hopeful, upon her. Watching the trio of females hardly more than girls, and the strange, fascinating tools, Nyko held his breathe unconsciously, feeling Wanheda's tension. 

With a quick smile, she flicked the sound on. 

Mary choked, and Collette squealed. 

“That's baby's heartbeat,” confirmed Clarke, grinning at the girls, and looking to Nyko to see his reaction. He smiled, pleased enough, though still obviously uncertain. 

“Ohhhh my god,” whispered Mary, her eyes huge, and trying to lean a bit forward to eye the monitor as best she could. Clarke picked it up, and showed it to the young mother for a moment, before bringing it back to the stand to keep going. 

Clarke titled her head a bit, trying to make sense of the what she was seeing. 

“I think baby's laying sideways,” she murmured.

“Is that ok?” whispered Mary, and her friend gripped her hand tighter in support. Both their faces tensed in quick burst of anxiety.

Clarke looked up from where she was bent close to the screen. 

“It's fine!” she assured them, “Not a problem. I'm just... I just have almost no idea what I'm doing with this, ok? Reading an ultrasound is a skill that I never learned. I can turn it on, and I can see that baby looks ok, but my measurements are coming back different every time, and I'm never going to precisely figure out a due date. I'm just... trying, best I can,” apologized Clarke. 

“I'm not a doctor,” she reminded them, when they stayed quiet, exchanging looks between the expectant mama and her best friend. 

“It's ok,” whispered Mary. “I'm glad to have you anyway,” 

Clarke smiled gratefully, and bent back over the small monitor. Murmuring quietly to Nyko, Clarke had him lean in close so she could explain as much as possible. If she wasn't around, he'd at least be able to check the heartbeat, basic position, and check for any major deformities. 

Straightening up quickly, and nearly colliding into Nyko, Clarke sucked in a breathe sharply. Anxiety filled the room around, but then... she beamed at Mary. 

“I think baby is around 3lbs, and 16 inches. I'm estimating approx 32-34wks, and...” Clarke paused, letting Mary and Collette grin at each other, and waiting for them to look back to her. “I think... I think I know baby's gender,”

Collette squealed, and Mary's mouth gaped open. Nyko sucked in a breathe, trying to lean around the young healer discretely to eye the screen in frank curiosity. 

“Do you want to know? You can wait, if you-”

“No!” yelped Mary, before laughing happily. “Tell me!” 

Clarke glanced back down at the screen, noticing Nyko's interest, she titled it for him to see better, she checked once again, just to be sure of herself before announcing... 

“I can't say for sure, but I think... you're having a son,” 

“A boy,” whispered Mary, “a boy,” 

“First sky child born on the ground,” reminded Collette with a wide grin. 

The young mother looked from Clarke's face, to what she could see of the monitor, and back down to her belly, a smile slowly building. 

“My son, the firstborn of Skaikru,” she murmured.


	4. Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

91 days till the end, continued 

Mount Weather maternity ward 

Mary burst into tears. 

Clarke's mouth fell open, and she looked helplessly to Collette, who was looking down at her friend miserably. She wrapped her arms around Mary, and squeezed. Their young leader felt Nyko brush against her as he moved away, giving the Skaikru a semblance of privacy. 

“Derek was so angry, but still....” Mary choked out before her voice gave way to sobs again. 

Clarke's eyes fluttered closed, and she leaned forward, to place her hand gently on Mary's shoulder, around Collette's embrace. 

“but still, he would have been anyway,” Collette guessed at the rest of Mary's dropped thought.

Wiping frantically at her eyes, and running nose, even as the sobs kept coming, the other girl nodded helpless. 

“I'm so sorry,” whispered Clarke, squeezing Mary's shoulder. 

It wasn't enough. It never was. Another life she hadn't saved. 

Acquiring napkins to sop up the tears, and leaving her first patient in Collette's quiet comfort, Clarke hesitantly slipped away, following behind Nyko out the door. Another was waiting on her. 

She pulled the door securely shut behind them. Then paused to lean back against it. Nyko hesitated, waiting on her, and Clarke rubbed her hands roughly over her own face. Trying to get some measure of perspective. She offered a pained smile to the Trikru healer, embarrassed at her reaction to Mary's tears, before moving to the multi-purpose room next door. With her hand on the door knob, she paused, again. 

“This one is probably going to be more... invasive. I can go in first, and make sure she's comfortable with anyone else coming in?” 

Nyko looked startled, but then shook his head firmly. He glanced away from her, and the door she stood in front of. 

Clarke grinned a bit more easily at the healer's obvious reluctance. 

“Or you could get Monroe to show you to the main medical ward to look around,” offered Clarke instead. 

Inside the second multi-purpose maternity room, Bree was sitting alone on the bed side-ways with her legs dangling off and hands clenching the blanket at her sides. Clarke walked in quietly. 

“You might be too early for an external ultrasound, so since we may try an internal, I thought you'd be more comfortable without Nyko...” 

The tall, thin girl nodded vaguely. Actually, thought Clarke, Bree looked less bothered by the idea than Nyko had. 

“Do you want anyone to come in with you?” asked Clarke. 

Bree shook her head roughly. Her long, stringy blonde hair ruffled around her. 

“I don't want him here,” she muttered, looking away.

“Ok. It's up to you,” 

“It might, I mean, it might not be... Sterling's,”

“Oh,” murmured Clarke, awkwardly.

“Maybe Troy,” muttered Bree irritably. 

Clarke frowned a bit, began to reach out for the other girl, but faltered. Awkwardly, Clarke toys with the tablet she'd picked up. 

“We'll run a paternity test. Perfectly easy here. It is possible to do it prenatally, but it's much safer to wait until after birth. Amniocenteses is actually fairly safe, but I've never performed one. Jackson could be a possibility,” 

Bree shrugged. 

Clarke's concern grew.

“It's ok. These things happen. Even on the Ark sometimes. You won't be alone, and I will make sure you have all the help you need, no matter who the father is,” 

Bree's head only lowered closer to her chest as she stared down silently. Setting down the tablet, Clarke looked down at the the counter for a long moment. 

Breathing slow as she tried to figure out the words, Clarke stepped closer, and tried to angle so she could meet Bree's averted gaze. 

“But pregnancy and birth are risks in our situation. Even with this ward. Even with Jackson and my mother. If it's early enough, I've found medications here that would induce termination. Medically, there's risks to that too. And surgical termination could be an option if Jackson or my mother are willing to perform it, but I don't know that they would. It has even greater risks than the oral medication route. I really don't know much about this, but I can look into the risks more for you,” 

“Do I have to?” asked Bree, with her head still lowered and voice flatter than Clarke had ever heard the playful girl. 

“No!” blurted Clarke, “I'm sorry, I did not mean to pres-” 

“But I can?” interrupted Bree.

“Yes,” assured Clarke, her voice hesitant and uncertain, but her bright eyes fixed assuringly when Bree finally looked up. 

“I didn't think it'd be my choice,” admitted Bree. 

“Even... even if you give birth, but don't believe raising the child yourself is the best for you both, that's a choice too. We could make that happen,” suggested Clarke slowly. 

Hunching her shoulders again, Bree looked away, beyond Clarke to the door, where beyond it, somewhere, Sterling was hopefully still waiting. 

“Do I have to decide now?” 

Shaking her head, Clarke picked up the tablet again, and switched it on. 

“The risks to termination rise as time goes on, but let's do the ultrasound and get your blood work results before we deal with that, ok?” 

With a half-shrug, Bree shifted her thin frame around, scooting back so she could lay down. As Clarke prepared to try an external ultrasound, Bree looked around the room some more, eyeing the great tub, and the odd looking stool while biting her lip. 

“What about the radiation down here?” 

Clarke hummed thoughtfully. 

“Honestly, I'm not sure, but because of the genetic engineering on the Ark, and the generations of solar radiation, I don't think it will be a major concern. Until we get closer to Praimfaya. Levels are rising, and even though we have three months until it's unsurvivable... You should consider moving in here early. A month before Praimfaya at least. Just to be cautious. We can run the O2 scrubbers and the minimize the radiation even before we seal,” 

Bree scrunched her nose unhappily. 

 

Floukru 

The rising heat and humidity was the first thing Octavia was aware of as she woke. The unpleasant stifling weather of only one place she knew of. 

Thrice damned Floukru. 

Having willingly drugged herself, again, in order to get paasage onto Floukru's rusting rig, she woke up slowly with a pounding head. A deep, slow breathe. Lincoln was stirring beside her. He'd already been murdered by Pike the first time she'd come here. Others in the space around were beginning to as well- rustles of stiff cotton, and coarse leather, against the metal floor. Last time, Lincoln was dead, and she'd brought instead Bellamy, Clarke, and Jasper, guided by the map in his journal. He stretched languidly beside her, moving a bit closer, his arms and shoulders brushing soothingly against her. Octavia scowled before she'd even opened her eyes. Seeing Luna again had not been on her bucket list. The coward, and traitor, to not just her own blood, but the coalition itself had caused so much of the insanity of the final days of Earth. If she'd just ascended when they'd brought the flame to her, they would have had so much more time to prepare. 

To improve their chances. 

Maybe the bunker could have been reinforced. 

Maybe no one would have had to try to get back to the Ring. 

Only Lexa's heavy hints that no one else knew enough to handle this delegation had gotten her here. In truth, Clarke knew well enough, but once she was disarmed, she was useless- as she'd proven on their last trip here. 

A deep groan from somewhere beyond Lincoln echoed in the long, narrow shipping container. 

“Floukru offers food and drink once you all are recovered enough,” came the infuriatingly calm voice of the Floukru ambassador, Piers. 

Whom was not the ambassador for the ocean clan in the last life, inexplicably, realized Octavia suddenly. 

Ignoring her soreness, Octavia pushed herself up to her feet swiftly, pulling away from Lincoln's closeness. 

“I don't need to recover from that little concoction you lot hide behind,” spit Octavia. 

Her cheeks flushed darkly, and she clenched her fists, annoyed at the absence of her weapons. Behind her now, Lincoln rose to his feet. 

The ocean clan ambassador waited placidly. 

Octavia sneered impatiently, and could not see Lincoln's frown. Easier the rest, she shook off the dredges of fuzziness, recognizing it from before. 

In some burst of mischief, Lexa had ordered Wade of Blue Cliffs, along with his partner, Zavian of Glowing Forest, Jorum kom Sandakru, and his Delfikru partner, Tret. The last three of the unit had accepted their orders from the heda to answer to her for this mission with ease. The Blue Cliffs warrior had gritted his teeth so hard for the entirety of that meeting, Octavia had gleefully known his sore would have been left sore. 

These four came lumbering to their feet, irritable with their pounding heads. 

“Let's get this started,” barked Octavia sharply, “And you'd damn well better not have let anything slip while we were drugged,” she threatened, bouncing restlessly in place. Ready for a fight, if he so much as glanced away in guilt. 

Lincoln moved closer, coming up even with her, to rest a hand soothingly on her arm. 

The rest of their unit, still shaking off the grogginess, nevertheless glared from the side, and behind her, at the ocean clan's ambassador. 

He bowed his head slightly in respect. 

“I have remained at your side in order to keep the faith of this mission, as promised,” he assured them calmly. 

Octavia huffed in acknowledgment. With a jerk of her hand towards the container's closed doors, she urged him on. 

 

Hundred Camp

Sunset found Clarke in the dropship's lower level. Her carefully tended notebook, freshly updated after their trip to Mount Weather, was already replaced into the slim metal cabinet built into the dropship's wall. Dinner would be ready soon, she could tell from the noise level outside, but she was scrubbing down the med bay corner with sharply potent alcohol, and sun dried rags. In case it was needed while she away, Clarke was leaving it as clean as possible. 

Heavy footsteps came up the entrance, and Clarke looked over her shoulder to see Bellamy. His jaw clenched, and eyes intent upon her. She let the alochol soaked remeant of someone's old Ark t-shirt drop to the makeshift exam table. Turning to face him, and careful not to brush against the wet table, she braced herself for whatever was making him look at her like that. 

“Why can't you just stay?” 

He threw the words at her just as he had learned, in this life, to throw spears- doggedly swift and sure. 

“What use am I really to our people here?” demanded the younger of the leaders. Her shoulders hunched in on herself, and she crossed her arms under her chest. 

“Look, Bell, I lazed around for a week, but now that Arkadia's out of Polis, I can actually get back to work. I shouldn't have left Charlotte, but she begged to stay with Aden. I can't just sit here, doing nothing, while we are waiting for the end of the world,” explained Clarke earnestly, her big blue eyes pleading with him to understand. 

“Can't you see how much there is to for you to do here?” His retort flew out at her, even as he moved closer, into her space. She stepped back against the table, forgetting it was still wet from her cleaning. 

“There is nothing here I am needed for. In Polis, I can be helping with the preparations, and protecting Second Dawn and those are the most important things,” replied Clarke wearily. 

He snorted, and looked away from her, as if he couldn't bear to look at her any longer. He stepped to the side, and stood, glaring out at the entrance of the dropship in frustration. 

“But... I can come back more often. It's only a day, or night's ride, I can make the trip twice a week, splitting my time between home and Polis,” promised Clarke quietly before easing around him, and out towards the camp. 

Dinner time, crowded around the fire, with their little bent metal cups of moonshine, and hot, roasted meat, was a favorite time of day for most of Skaikru. Between the crowding close in their furs, the vital fire, and the warmth deep in their gut from the alcohol, they were warm enough, and at rest, for a change. 

As she stared into the fire, surrounded by her people in the midst of dinner, Clarke considered the issue at hand. Caliban, Nyko, and the rest had gone back to Ton DC, but Caliban had offered to ride back to Polis with her tonight. 

He'd be at the gate before too much longer, but Clarke knew she could demure, and reschedule their return, without him holding much of a grudge if any. 

Reasons to Leave 

She'd already skipped the summit, and truly, she had to keep working with Lexa for everyone's sake. 

Bellamy's sad, disappointed eyes, that she feels on her nearly every moment she spends in Hundred Camp. 

The primary bunker must be protected at all costs. Mt. Weather could save only a fraction of what Second Dawn could, and at least Mt. Weather was firmly entrenched in Trikru territory. The vicious Anya stood between it, and falling. 

Charlotte... why was Wells' anxious about her, and what was she going to do about the novitiates? Wells must be wondering why Clarke would take care of his murderer. 

Her people needed to know she was going to do everything she could to protect them- including making sure Praimfaya was well prepared for. Mary's pregnancy seemed to be going fine, despite some dehydration, and with Bree being so early, there wasn't anything for Clarke to do anyway. 

The only reason to stay... Bellamy. 

That wasn't enough to change her plans. She couldn't let it be. In those slowly blurring memories of before they'd done such horrible things to each other, in the name of their people. Their duty. Their loyalty to others. 

Distance might be their only saving grace. 

Packing up barely took ten minutes, not bothering with more than what her mare and she herself could easily carry. Travel was becoming routine, like it had those months she'd spent alone, trying to outrun her sins, before. 

Bag slung across her shoulder, Clarke trudged out from the drop ship. Shoulders squared as she resolutely stared down to just in front of her feet as she walked. 

“Clarke, wait up!” 

Marching over from the fire, Monroe waved her down, and Clarke looked up, a weak smile forming. Atom was right behind her, and others followed them away from the heat. 

Clarke met the group not far from the gate. Jasper leaped forwards to hug her, and Atom patted her on the back companionably, while Monroe grinned up at her sharply. 

“Are you really leaving me behind?” taunted the shorter girl, shoving at Clarke's shoulder. 

“I know you'd rather go back, but... there is something here you could help with. Tell them, any of them who will listen, about Polis. About these people we're about to spending five years with. Get them ready, if you can,” - Clarke 

Monroe rolled her eyes, “Yes, your highness,” she sighed, but the smirk that stretched across her fair, freckled face a moment later belied the grudgingness. 

“Can't we go?” chirped Jasper's girl eagerly. 

Jasper looked hopefully between Mischa, and their leader, his arm sweetly around the dark haired girl. 

“For now, we've got enough people in Polis. Once the others come back to continue work at Mt. Weather, I might bring a smaller group to the capital, but I'm not sure,” hedged Clarke tactfully. 

The girl shrugged Jasper's arm off of her shoulders with a sullen look, and fled for the cabin. Flushing pink, he gave Clarke a puppyish look of hurt. She leaned forward, squeezing his forearm consolingly, and held on for a moment. 

“She's upset... about Derek, and you know,” he waved his other hand vaguely around. 

Slowly, Clarke nodded, but still looked worriedly at him, taking note of the stressed lines on his forehead, and how he bit the inside of his cheek... 

The cabin door thudded dully, as the girl tried to slam the heavy, creaking thing. Jasper shuffled his feet, and looked down, away from Clarke's frank concern. With a faint attempt of a smile, he turned away and wandered off towards the fire. From behind her, Clarke heard someone scoff loudly, and whirled around to glare at Atom. 

Instead of mocking Jasper, though, as the blonde had thought, Atom was rolling his eyes as he gazed towards the cabin. 

“She's been a super bitch since you all left for the summit,” grumbled the boy they'd left in charge alongside Jasper. 

“I thought she was... sweeter than that,” muttered Clarke. 

“All honey-sweet till she doesn't get way. Try telling her to quit the gossiping and get to the washing up,” corrected Atom. 

Clarke just sighed. 

“We have bigger things to worry about,” she reminded him, and herself too. 

“Yea, like freezing to death now, or burning to death in a few months,” drawled Monroe. 

Atom blanched, but Clarke snorted, and it turned into a hysterical giggle. 

“Oh, god, yes, things like that,” huffed out Clarke as she fought the laughter in vain as Monroe's smirk only grew. The young leader looked so ridiculous trying so hard to stop from laughing, that Atom and Monroe joined in, snickering at her. 

“Oh, the great and majestic sky princess,” taunted Monroe. 

Choking on her own indignity, Clarke bent over in half, still giggling, till she clapped her hand over her own mouth to silence it. 

They stood talking and laughing, with others coming up to say quick farewells, drawn in by the softly jovial racket. 

It was just the kind of good-bye she needed, thought Clarke. 

Camp wasn't back to normal. They couldn't ever go back to that... almost idealytic period that they'd managed to have this life. Sunshine, and fresh air, and walking in the woods without any known enemies... Hanging out around the fire each night with their people. Warm furs, and a cabin to huddle in together at night... it was what Earth should have been. 

The dreams had ruined the contentedness of their existence. 

Derek's death had reminded them that uncertainty still lurked. 

The knowledge of Praimfaya had burnt away the last of their comfort. 

But they were resilient, and if they survived, her people would have time to find their hopefulness again. 

Clarke finally slipped out the gate, her mare and bag ready, to wait, under the dutiful gaze of the watcher on duty with a torch and rifle above the gate. 

“Hey, Clarke, remember, don't freeze!” called Monroe loudly, as the gate swung closed with a hard thump. 

“I'll try!” laughed Clarke from the other side. 

She turned away from the gate, still smiling at Monroe's taunts, only to find Bellamy waiting, leaning against the outside of the wall. 

“Waiting with me?” she asked softly, looking up at him anxiously. 

He turned his face towards her, serious and intent, though he remained leaning causally against the wall. Clarke shivered at the grimness of his eyes. 

“Marry me.” 

His suggestion sounded more like an order he'd throw at his gunners. It came out of the quiet, striking as harshly as a whip. Clarke's inhale of breathe was obnoxiously loud, and she stared up at him, her mouth open, without words. 

“Bellamy! You don't-” 

“Clarke, I'm serious. Will-?” continuned Bellamy, with his eyes full of solemn determination. 

“No!” she yelped, not even letting him finish the question. 

At his surprised, and downright hurt look, she softened. “No, Bell, we're not getting married just to throw the grounders off my scent.” 

“Do you want them to keep vying for you like you're a bitch in heat?” he demanded. 

Lips thinning, she glared. 

“Don't be an idiot,” snapped Clarke. “It's not an actual problem for us to be worrying about. It's not a big deal. No one is trying to make me chose.”

“Not yet, but if you keep them all the hook, they will!” thundered her partner, the manager, and protector, of Hundred Camp, sounding dangerously close to truly losing his temper. 

“I'm not keeping anybody on the hook! As soon as the ambassadors know about Praimfaya, I can explain-” 

“Like they're going to care!” 

“It's none of your business!” shrieked Clarke. 

Her voice rising spitefully, coming forwards at him angrily, shoulders bowed up for a fight, echoing Octavia, even if she didn't realize it. 

But Bellamy did. He swallowed hard. Again. Octavia was as hot tempered as Clarke was cold blooded, he would have said. Even when they huddled with their heads bowed close as they plotted and schemed together, which seemed like always to him, they faced their choices with such different manners. But they were more alike than he'd realized. Or they were growing more alike, and he hadn't noticed. Because neither of them were ever around. 

“Clarke-” Bellamy's voice cracked painfully “Please, let me help you. I just want to protect you.” 

The admittance was rough to force out, and his eyes were wide open, beseeching her to understand him how Octavia never did anymore. Not since she'd woken up, a different girl than the one he'd always known. That he'd noticed. Just... she'd been getting older. Less a kid, closer to an adult, and still trapped... and he'd thought... of course she's angry. Angry that every day, Mom and I leave the room, but she never will. 

The blonde girl did soften again. 

She reached for him. Took hold of his forearm with a weary smile.

“I don't need saving. This isn't a fairytale, or ancient myth... I'm no damsel in distress, and there's no dragon to slay, nor evil prince to save me from. Trust me, Bell,” 

Bellamy snapped his eyes shut. He was blocking out of the sight of her, so small and so young, and acting like she had no idea how awful this planet is. Her voice was low, and smooth, a calm command, lulling him into accepting her words. If he could focus on her voice, maybe he'd believe it. Yet... 

“Nathan and Wells both offered to marry me, too,” 

The admittance, half-amused, half-frustrated, was quiet enough not to be overheard by the watchers on duty- unlike their argument only moments ago. 

He grunted in acknowledgment. 

“My foolish, valiant boys. As if Nathan wants a wife. As if Wells isn't just smitten with Gaia.” continued Clarke. 

Her face warmed at the sacrifices her friends had been willing to make for her. Without even knowing it, her eyes had softened, and her mouth curved in a smile. 

“And what's your excuse for turning me down?” asked Bellamy, his voice tight and hard, with his eyes scanning the forest around them, never allowing them to land on her, not when she was watching him from the corner of her own eyes. 

A long, slow sigh was the only answer at first. 

She mulled over it for quiet minutes. 

“You're Octavia's brother, and my partner in leading our people. I'm not your sister, but you try to watch out for me, the same as her. Bell, you're my friend. Like Wells. Like Nathan. None of you should give up your lives for me. It's ridiculous. The world's ending, and the hope of being with someone you want to be might be one of only good things left for any of us,” 

Somewhere close, an owl was hooting. Loudly. It sounded like home. This time around, Clarke realized, Hundred camp really was home. It was something to lose. 

Bellamy's face was tight and hard, same as he held himself. 

“I would protect you,” he gritted out, his jaw clenching tightly. 

Clarke smiled softly. She reached out, and took hold of his hand. “You already do that,” 

“That's different,” grunted Bellamy. 

She titled her head, carefully looking into his eyes, reading the tightness of his face, and shuttered look in his eyes. 

“Are you in love with me, Bellamy?” stressed Clarke pointedly. 

He flushed, looking away for a moment, and when looked back to meet her gaze, he frowned. 

“I love you,” he assured her, far too quietly for anyone to overhear. 

“That's different,” she threw his words back at him. 

With a lopsided shrug, and looking out into the forest, as if waiting for the appearance of the Trikru warrior, he conceded. 

“But I still love you, and you still belong here,” he tried again, low, and gruff. 

Razor wires wrapped around her, pulling in different directions, nevermind the pain it caused. She wanted to stay, and she wanted to go. Neither was ever right. 

“I'm no real use around here. In Polis, I can help with the preparations and actually get something done.” argued Clarke, leaning against the horse, and grateful the little mare didn't sidestep out from under her. 

“You're our only healer-” snarled Bellamy.

“They can clean their own cuts, and Nyko's always willing to help with anything worse. With the horses, it's hardly more than a half hour's ride to Ton DC. Plus with the radios, I'm only a day's ride away. You call, I'll come,” soothed Clarke. 

“We need you here, but you're always leaving.” snapped Bellamy.

“You keep the camp running fine,” dismissed the younger of the pair quietly. 

“Except morale's in the toilet!” retorted her partner, his voice rasping and heated, his glare just as dark. 

“I need to be with Charlotte, and Wells! You don't understand!” her voice cracked, and she turned her face into the horse's mane, hiding away until she blinked away the sudden tears. 

“He must be so confused. I've watched out for her, and leave her there with him... Hell, I've asked him to protect her. His killer. I set him up as bodyguard for his murderer. Because I never thought he'd know,” she whispered. 

“He's a big boy, he'll deal with it.” snapped Bellamy. 

“No, Bellamy, I've got to go,” she argued, and then swung herself up on the horse, to wait for Caliban's arrival. 

“You can't seriously ride in the dark,” he tried, sounding more tired now, reaching out to her pleadingly. 

“It'll be fine. Caliban's made this trip hundreds of times,” 

“You're actually going to marry him, aren't you?” snarled Bellamy, his temper flaring back up in full, and he stalked so close, that her little mare flattened her ears defensively. 

Even on the horse, she wasn't that high above him, and as she looked down, with the torches over the gate, she could make out the tauntness of his jaw as he glared at her. 

“It's none of your business.” she hissed. “Now shut up, he'll be here any minute.” 

“Don't want your fiance to hear me talking about what a bad idea this whole damn thing is?” hissed Bellamy.

“Shut. Up.” snarled Clarke. 

Stiffly, he stood there at her horse's side. Silent, now. Just brooding up an awful mood. 

Just before the Trikru warriors came into sight, Clarke leaned over the side of her horse a bit towards him, and hissed- “Idiot! I'm not marrying anyone!” 

Long after she rode away, with that silent bear of a grounder leading the way into the dark, Bellamy stood there. He'd wanted to ask her what the hell they were supposed to do about the dreams, but instead he'd managed to get into another argument with her. 

 

The Overnight Ride Back to Polis 

Green wasn't just a color. On Earth, it was vital, sacred, all-consuming. So many more shades, fainter, deeper, brighter... than she ever could have imagined, no matter how many times she'd immersed herself in the few Art textbooks they'd had in Space. Even in the dark, with only the torch of fire he carried to lit their way, she could make out some of the bright tones. 

Beyond their greetings, and going over the simple plan for the night, Clarke kept quiet till they were far from Hundred Camp. 

“Does Trikru know what happened to the boy of my people that died?” asked Clarke carefully, keeping her eyes straight ahead, but listening anxiously for her escort's reply. 

“The boy tried, and failed, to fight his way into the mountain.” rumbled Caliban.

“The narcotics,” blurted out Clarke, her face going ashen in the pale light of the torch he carried. 

The Trikru man glanced over at her, not recognizing that term. 

“Pain medicine. So strong it should only be used in emergencies. He wanted it, because his leg still hurts. Still had hurt,” corrected the young leader grimly. “I knew he wanted it, but I didn't... think...” 

Biting her lip to hold back her groan of mortification, Clarke bent her head low over her little mare's neck. 

“Thank you for bringing him home, and thank you for telling me.” she murmured. 

“Trikru keeps watch over the mountain, as promised.” reminded the warrior firmly. 

Silence fell between them- but the land around so much in sound that talking wasn't necessary... the wet, fallen leaves beneath the horses' hooves, owls in the distance, and insects, that Clarke knew would soon disappear. Derek's death really was her fault, she realized. Not just because she'd failed to save him, but because she'd known he wanted into Mt. Weather, and had just left him there at camp. Knowing if he'd tried to sneak into the bunker... Trikru would defend it with lethal force. 

To her surprise, Caliban broke the silence this time, though, she wondered, it had been at least an hour, maybe two, since last they'd spoken, beyond “watch that hole up ahead,” 

“Be assured, Wanheda, that I do not expect to find myself your husband,” he announced gravely, out of the blue. 

Knowing from the heat warming her cheeks that she was flushing, Clarke held his eyes for only a moment before looking forwards again. A wicked shine of amusement taunted her from his dark eyes, and crooked grin. 

“I am considering the proposals.... But arranged marriages were not a custom in the sky, and I... was surprised to find myself at the certain of this-” tried to explain Clarke. 

“Trikru was honor bound to propose a match once the others did, but a babe will slow you down, and a weak man even worse,” 

“Indra has a daughter,” pointed out Clarke. 

The smile on his lined face was rueful. “But not a man. And Indra stayed in Ton DC for eight years to bring up that girl,” 

“My people are too young to be parents anyway. It's gonna be hard enough for us to manage with Mary's, and Bree's,” mused the blonde. 

He raised thick brows when his gaze strayed back to her. 

“Only so long can the next generation be put off.” he returned, amusement lacing his face. 

“Hod op!” barked Caliban, pulling back on the reins for his horse.

Instinctively, Clarke followed suit, but even as her horse came to a fast stop, she was cautiously looking all around. Her eyes landed him, as he turned his horse hard back the way they'd came, and urged it close to one of the numerous pine trees they'd just passed. It wasn't until his large hand came close, and pointed it out, that she spotted the bright, white spot at the base of a thick, low branch. 

“Azgeda,” 

“Ice Nation,” 

They spoke at the same time, her not needing him to explain the significance of the white warpaint in Trikru territory. Not close enough to Polis to excuse the presence of Azgeda, much less the warpaint of their clan. The branch was a good one to tie a horse to, mused Clarke. As the tree was sunken back from the treeline a bit, with nothing blocking it from the path, and low, and strong enough to hold a horse if spooked. 

“What do we do?” asked Clarke grimly. 

He looked around again, and back to her. 

“Cover your head,” he ordered, low, and gruffer than normal even. 

With a steady hand, Clarke yanked the coarse brown hood up. It went with the plain grounder garb she used she was using to travel. Then she tucked in every strand of her hair that had slipped from the braids she'd hastily done on her own, in absence of Octavia and Charlotte. 

“Now, as we were. Fast. Don't stop,” instructed Caliban, and the moment she accepted his plan with a curt nod, he wheeled his horse around- with a firm kick, sending it forwards quickly into a run. Clarke followed suit, groaning tiredly.


	5. Ho Hey

Ho Hey, the Lumineers 

91 days till the end, evening 

The Floukru hospitality consisted of a lot of strong smelling, fire roasted fish, and slimy edible items Octavia couldn't identity today anymore than she'd been able to on her first trip. Even the children were drinking a weak, salty beer with dinner, and just as last time, they sat around in little groups. Talking, and taking turns telling silly stories as if making it quite obvious they were ignoring the outsiders' presence in their midst. Octavia itched all over. The sweat covering her from the unpleasantly humid day, dried and stinking now, and the tight, dark confines made it worse. It didn't even feel like winter here anymore. 

Surrounded by her tiny clan, hardly bigger than Skaikru, the disgraced nitblida sat, smug and distant, preceding over the evening meal. The shadows and flames cast over her, Luna resembled her sister of the blood unnaturally so. The arrogant tilt of her chin as she ignored the commander's delegation had most of it brooding darkly by the time the meal was hardly underway. The sharp, hard gaze, and the slight, sneer... Octavia had never truly appreciated Luna and Lexa's similarities before. Till now. 

Pressed close to his paramour's side, pointedly having sat between her and the irritable Blue Cliffs warrior, Lincoln was torn. Wishing to drift towards his old friend, but stuck as if by magnets to Octavia. 

The young ambassador was sitting placidly at Octavia's other side, being as frankly ignored as the delegation was being by the rest of Floukru. Watching Piers kom Floukru from the corner of her eye, Octavia looked away to scan the mess hall again until she spotted the elderly man with the thick, bushy, short beard who'd been the ocean clan's ambassador before. He was sitting, flanking Luna, whom had her own boyfriend, Derrick, Octavia remembered, on her other side. Though the old man was eating quietly, Octavia knew he was watching her just as intently in return. 

She didn't know many of the other Floukru- there was Adria, who'd made to Camp Jaha to die, at a group of children, as far from the delegation as could be, and Shay, whose death had pushed Jasper over the edge finally, but the rest she knew only by sight, really, telling stories loudly only a few feet away, at the fire nearest theirs. 

“She has ignoring us all day,” spat Octavia, without bothering to lower her voice.

“An insult to Heda,” agreed Wade of Blue Cliffs hotly, and Lincoln shifted a bit more, placing his back to the ill-tempered fellow. 

“These are hardly matters to discuss at dinner with too many ears able to overhear,” counseled Lincoln, pitching his voice low, but his discomfort made him gruffer. 

90 Days Till the End 

The morning Clarke arrives back at Polis 

When the sun came up, it offered a slowly brightening as they walked tiredly towards Polis. After pushing hard for most of the journey, they'd finally gotten close enough to the capital to slow down. Not long before dawn, the gruff Trikru man had dismounted in order to relieve his horse. With his feet back on the ground, Caliban stretched briefly, and loosened the girths to let the saddle and packs sit loosely. Once she'd followed his example, Clarke pet the frothy sweat drenched, warm mare gratefully.   
Ambling the very last hour, Caliban, slow and unhurried, answered anything she could think to ask. 

“My grandfather's grandmother lived through Praimfaya. Moira. She was just a young girl, but she is the only one of that generation I know of,” admitted Caliban, holding branches back for Clarke to pass through a narrow squeeze. 

Someone must have run ahead when they were spotted, because when Clarke came into sight of the tower, Titus was waiting, grim faced, though perhaps no more than usual. It was harder to read him, in this life, since he seemed to dislike her a fraction or so less. Without waiting to ask, her escort reached for the reins of her mare, and led her off along with his own towards the back of the tower. 

“Yes?” asked Clarke as she reached Titus. 

His scowl deepened, looking down at her severely. 

“Heda has summoned you to your quarters- immediately,” 

Upon reaching Lexa's personal rooms, she found the commander pacing restlessly in the bright light of dozens of fat candles. 

“You missed the council on Praimfaya,” snapped Lexa the moment the door was shut. 

Pursing her lips, Clarke ignored the sharpness. 

“Skaikru has been blamed for disasters we didn't cause before. There was no need for me to be there inviting a recurrence.” 

Turning away, Lexa withdrew a long dagger, that Clarke supposed was her favorite, as it was always the first one drawn. Before the blonde could think on it further, it sailed through the room to embed itself with a sharp thud into the circular board nailed into one wall. It looked, Clarke thought, like a dart board from the recreation room in Second Dawn, in fact. 

The other girl didn't even bother watching once she'd thrown it. Dead center, on a spot that had once been bright red. Instead she turned to stare, flatly, at Clarke. 

Who tried to ignore the unspoken demand. 

Lexa's brow raised, just a hint, but otherwise she kept her face smoothly blank, in wait. 

Huffing, Clarke gave in, pulling a knife of her own “It's not even mine, really. It's Trikru's blood money for John. Cutting off that thought before it could really strike, she aimed, taking longer than Lexa, and watched as it struck. 

Only just making it on the outer ring of the board, still, it stuck. 

At least they didn't fall to the floor anymore, clattering with shame. 

Or out the window that was two feet over from the board. 

Anymore. 

Lexa nodded, pleased, the slight curve of her pretty lips offering a touch of smugness. Her shoulders eased, and calmly, she retrieved both of their knives. With a wider smirk, she offered Clarke's back to her, handle first. 

“Again. We can train as we discuss this.” 

“You know I rode all night, right?” 

Lexa's nod was delicately short, and she smirked, with a tinge of amusement bleeding through her composure. 

“To train only when rested is to lose many advantages.” 

When Lexa finally conceded that Clarke was so done for the morning, the blonde limped from the commander's chambers. She was favoring her left side, where a cramp in her calf, and a particuarly heavy landing upon the cold floor together meant she was less than pleased with the training session.   
Flexing her calf gently as she made her way towards her own chambers, she fought a grimace when Titus came around a corner, and lasered in upon her. 

“Wanheda, may I have a moment?” inquired the flamekeeper as he drew nearer. 

Clarke paused mid-step, already nodding automatically, even as she eyed the unfamliar man who followed the flame-keeper. 

“Titus?” she prompted, once both men had come to a stop in front of her path. 

He bowed his head slightly, before extending his hand to present the man at his side. 

Sandy haired, with lightly red cheeks, fair golden skinned, and bright blue eyes, broad shouldered and tall, with sharp features and a hint of an amused smirk on his lips, Clarke immediately decided she'd never seen him before- in either life. 

“Wanheda, I wish for you to meet Ulrin kom Delfikru, the clan's chief. Only yesterday, he arrived in Polis,” said Titus smoothly. 

The smirk grew, crooked and perhaps, she thought, self-deprecating, on the other man's face. 

Clarke flushed, dark and hot, worsening the moment she realized it, knowing how awfully noticable it was. Pursing her lips, she nodded curtly. 

“Nice to meet you,” she managed.

“It is my honor to meet you,” assured Ulrin kom Delfrikru “I have heard much about you- especially today, from my young cousin.” 

Stiffening up when the man had begun, she relaxed once he'd finished. At the mention of the Delfikru nightblood, she smiled genuinely. “Aden is a remarkable boy,” she commented kindly. 

“It appears that he believes the sun rises, and sets solely upon your orders,” remarked Ulrin, his smirk reappearing. 

She startled, and noticed Titus' frown from the corner of her eye, but then chuckled when she decided that the Delfikru man had not meant it as a taunt. 

“Perhaps he is not wrong,” added Ulrin, earning a quick smile from the notoriously skeptical young woman. 

Titus' frown dissolved into a bit more smug of an expression. He slyly backed away, without their paying any notice, to leave them alone. 

 

In the land of ice and snow, 

From her great, wrought iron throne upon the stone dais, the queen of the ice nation glared down at the lone warrior before her. To either side of her, one of her own royal guard stood silent. 

“Be prepared,” she warned sharply.

The young field commander bowed his head quickly. 

“My son sets out in four day's time, and you will take your leave afterwards,” ordered the queen. 

“Sha, azplana,” barked out the young, but burly, fair haired warrior hastily. 

“You will succeed,” reiterated Nia, leaning forward to loom over him all the more. 

As the field commander bowed yet again, the great, wide doors were knocked hard upon, and with her sharp consent, flung open. 

Her own council, the war chiefs of every area of the ice nation, and her chosen advisers poured inside. The spy, a favorite of the queen, returned from the mountain, the nitblida, and finally her son, sullen though he remained, flanked by the security detail she'd granted him upon his own return. 

Roan strode in, suspiciously watching all those around him. The prodigal, returned. Nia puffed up with the pleasure of his submission. Let him hate, so long as he feared. 

Though chairs, many shapes and sizes, though all much smaller than her great throne, lined the back wall, none dared to chose one for themselves. Instead, the assembling, swollen greater than normal, with their seconds ordered to attend, jostled for position. As they tried to stand closest to the throne, Nia smirked down at them all. When she spoke, silence hell, sharp and clear. 

“Welcome, my loyal friends,” crooned the ice queen, lazing back in her throne, and sweeping her gaze slowly over the room.

Rustles spread again as heads bowed deeply, and murmurs of respectful, or fearful, greetings rose quietly up to the dais. 

The queen did not miss her son's still silence, but ignored it. The prince's sullen boyish behavior would be noted by all those around him. All the grudging boy did was lessen his own dignity, and the threat he posed to herself. As if such a prince would be worthy of a coup to any Azgeda. 

Pleased, she launched into the discourse required of the day. 

Only once her war chiefs had appraised her of the ongoing preparations, and the advisers had argued over the border's reinforcements, did she turn her attention back to the grim visage of her son. Throughout the meeting, he had listened, silent, with his head turned away from her. 

“See it that the border is secure,” concluded Nia. 

She turned her gaze upon Roan, and stretched her mouth out into a smile. 

“My son, the crown prince Roan, shall reacquaint himself with the people of Azgeda,” she purred, 

Roan's head jerked up and over to meet his mother's eyes. 

Her smile grew to show her teeth. 

Just waiting for him to defy her. 

“Atohl, you shall lead his security detail for the procession,” added Nia lazily. The war chief of the capital straightened up, and eyed his second with his thick brows furrowed. 

Roan turned to look at the war chief's second, as the room at large did as well. He grit his teeth. With his face contorted, barely holding back a snarl, he met his mother's eyes again. 

With just a jerky nod, he agreed. Waiting, he listened, closely, silently, as the meeting continued on around him. That his mother was preparing for war, was painfully frank, but she did not speak of why beyond the greatness of Azgeda's honor. Her sycophants demanded no explanation at all. 

“Out, all of you,” ordered the queen. 

The room emptied swiftly. 

Except for the prince, the queen, and of course, the warrior at each side of her. 

It was not as if she could be left actually alone with her own son. 

“You look more like your father every day,” - Nia 

“That is the nature of sons, is it not? I am merely the only one to live long enough,” - Roan 

She scoffed. 

Hundred Camp 

“Bellamy, the radio! It's Clarke!” yelped Jasper, sticking his head out of the curtains only just far enough to be heard before scurrying back to continue hiding out. 

Abandoning his wooden bowl of roasted deer chunks, Bellamy jumped to his feet. He left Sterling, and Atom to scavenge from it as he hurtled towards the radio. Crossing the camp from fire to dropship in long, hasty strides and when he reached the radio, sitting on the comms center on the upper level, he took a deep breathe before picking it up. Jasper hesitated nearby until Bellamy waved his hand pointedly towards the hatch. 

“Hey, Clarke?” Bellamy tried.

She replied, flat and cool. “Report?” 

Frowning at the lack of warmth, he forged ahead as soon as the hatch fell closed behind Jasper. 

“Uh, everything's normal here. Fine, I mean. Thing is, Jackson radioed me when he couldn't reach you-”

“What's wrong?” she rushed him, voice rising and losing her blank effect of composure.

“Hey, chill, it's not a big deal. Apparently, he found some actual relative of Jasper's. Great-uncle, I guess. The old man's asking about him, and Jackson... well, he said if Jasper wants to meet him, it needs to be soon,” 

She didn't respond for so long Bellamy thought she was gone. Her voice, when it finally came again, was muffled as she whispered closely into the radio. “That's new,” she revealed. 

“So?” 

“I don't know why.... I mean, what could have changed this?” 

Bellamy shrugged, even though she couldn't see it. 

“Does he want to go?” 

“Haven't told him yet,” - Bellamy 

She held the line open, as if she began to respond, but paused to change her mind. “Tell him, and let him radio Jackson. But don't let him go on his own-”

“Obviously,” cut in Bellamy. 

“I'll be back as soon as I can, and if he wants to go, we make a quick trip,” she finished curtly. 

“You really think that's a smart decision?” 

“The more things change, the less my old memories help,” hissed Clarke quietly, “but we can't just ignore everything we don't already know about,”. 

“Yeah, well, you're still more privileged than the rest of us when it comes to info, so maybe you shouldn't be making stupid choices to risk your neck,” 

The radio stayed silent, and he knew this time, she wasn't coming back on the line. Dropping the priceless long distance radio onto the makeshift table harder than was smart, he turned away. 

Below, he found the boy in question, tinkering around. Moonshine was store in miscellaneous jugs near the med bay. The supply was looking low, noticed Bellamy vaguely before he focused in on Jasper as soon as his boots hit the ground off the ladder. 

“We need to talk,” grunted Bellamy. 

“Isn't that normally a girl's line?” piped up Jasper, looking up from where he'd been rearranging the jugs.


	6. Quarter Past Midnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who needs a beta?
> 
> Me. Totally. Augh. Editing is hell. 
> 
> Gah, I hope somebody is still reading despite how irregular the updates are. Sorry!

Chapter Six 

Quarter Past Midnight, Bastille 

 

* 3 day time jump *

87 days until the end 

A series of beeping paused, gave one last single, long tone, and stopped. 

Raven was flitting around the command center, ensuring everything was off, tucked away safe, and snug. 

“Strip the lab, the lighthouse, and the mansion of all tech you can carry. Wagons will meet you once you return to the mainland, but you're going to have to figure things out on the island. You can keep doing trips as long as possible, but prioritize just in case,” reiterated Clarke smoothly. 

“On it,” chirped Raven, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Clarke beamed at her, reaching out to hug her impulsively, which Raven startled at, but returned, light and airy, a heartbeat later. 

“Wait, actually, hang on!” Once she had the other girl's attention again, Raven grinned brightly. 

“Can I just stay on the island till it's done?” she asked. 

Clarke pulled away to look at her, and her brow furrowed in thought. 

“You don't need to come back to work on the bunkers?” 

Raven shook her head, and smirked.

“Nah, we're good to go really. The door's repaired at Mt. Weather, and Second Dawn is fine, besides Monty still messing around in the aquaponics farm. I mean, I've got some ideas for upgrades, but we've got time, and they aren't necessary,” Raven said. 

Clarke shrugged slightly. “Alright, you can work out a schedule with Indra,” 

“Yes!” 

“Be in front of the tower at sunrise, remember?” 

“Yea, yea, rise and shine, stupid o'clock, I know, I know, princess pushy!” retorted Raven, shoving at the blonde's shoulder to get her out the doorway finally. 

Laughing, Clarke waved as she left the command center, and out of Second Dawn, leaving Raven alone in the quiet with only computers for company. 

Polis tower – Skaikru's floor 86 days until the end 

Stripping off a few layers confidently, she was well aware of Monty's appreciative gaze, even with the nervous, grim set to his mouth. With a grin, Harper lay down onto the couch with her back exposed. Resting her head with her face turned to the side away from him, she closed her eyes, and relaxed. Pulling first a low table, and then a hard stool over to lean over her, Monty rolled out the oiled leather healers kit Clarke had insisted he claim from the reparations after Murphy's death. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, not for the first time today. 

“Don't wimp out on me.” teased Harper, waiting patiently. Bare expect for the rough cotton legging, she wiggled her ass playfully. Monty smiled despite his misgivings briefly, but frowned again after only a moment. 

“You could wait until Wick comes up with something. He and Raven can't argue forever.” 

She shook her head as well as she could without rising up. 

“They're busy enough. And besides, before they left, Raven said something about staying on the island for a while. Anyway, I want this to be grounder-style. And you're the one I trust.” 

Sighing, he admitted defeat, knowing better than to try to stop her. Pulling out a small bottle of his own, strong brewed moonshine, he cleaned first his hands, and then her back. 

“Here goes nothing.” he muttered. 

He moved slow, with precise motions, and fixedly remembering the lecture he'd sought at the healers' center. Sitting back, Monty assessed the outcome. Her shoulder was flushed a brilliant red from the abuse, and he wanted to bandage it even though apparently the grounders didn't always do so. She needed a chance to see it first, though, and he grabbed the mirrors he'd found for just this reason. 

It was no work of art- he'd insisted he wasn't an artist, but his hand was steady, and his eye was good. The palm sized seven pointed star was high up on her right shoulder, hollow, with sharp lines. Beneath it were three crooked lines of miniatures falling from it- thirteen of them. The mark of Skaikru, the others had decided. 

 

Hurrying, she found Caliban just inside the Polis limits, but instead of overseeing WHAT, he was glaring darkly, with a fidgeting teenager, poised seemingly upon the line between sullen and defiant, walking reluctantly at his side. Clarke hesitated, considering backing away, but Caliban had already spotted her, nodding deeply in greeting, and she smiled wryly in return. With a sharp cuff to the back of the boy's head, he increased his pace to meet her mid-way between them. The boy didn't even flinch, but at least dropped his sullen gaze to the ground. 

“Good day, Wanheda,” greeted Caliban gruffly. 

Smiling wider, she returned his greeting, but continued on, ignoring the boy as Caliban did for the moment, “have I interrupted?” 

“Never. Apparently, my impulsive, disruptive second has been sent here to me because Anya has grown tired of his nonsense at home,”

“Ah, you could introduce me anyway, if he is your second,”

“Wanheda, Prisa kom Skaikru, Mountain Slayer, this is my troublesome second who ought to know better how to act by his age, Yulian kom Trikru,” 

“It's nice to meet you, Yulian kom Trikru. Your seda is a dear associate, and friend, of mine,” murmured Clarke warmly, with a vague amusement at the boy's expression- his sullenness seeming to have mixed with curiosity. 

Caliban sighed deeply. “Never mind the boy. What has brought you out here?” 

“Runners have come with messages about spotting an army!” blurted Clarke. 

When they reached the tower, Caliban sent off his second to the training yards, with a quietly growled warning to follow all orders given to him. From there, Clarke led the way, the Trikru warrior a half-step behind her, to the throne room. It had taken more than a half-hour to reach him, and back again, but Clarke couldn't force herself feel badly for making Lexa wait. 

She slipped inside the throne room door, without waiting for the guards to open them for her. Behind her, she knew Caliban was following as requested. Lexa's servant had repeated the commander's desire to speak with Clarke before anyone else, regarding the runners, but the blonde had ducked that neatly with her escort's presence. 

“Commander,” called Clarke, seeing the shape of Lexa, in full armor, standing upon the balcony. 

In quick, long steps, Lexa emerged from beneath the tattered remnants of the century-old curtains. Her gaze hardened at the sight of the warrior standing between Clarke's back, and the double doors, but when her bright eyes landed upon Clarke's tight expression, she smoothed her own out pointedly.

“According to multiple sources-” began Lexa, ignoring Caliban's presence, “there are many dozens of people marching, well supplied, towards Polis. At their estimated rate, they'll be here in no more than two hours,”

“Who are they?” demanded Clarke, rushing forwards to meet Lexa near the throne, though the commander remained standing, stiffly, and her gaze fixed solely upon the blonde. 

“Unknown. Which is why I am... requesting you leave, now. Return to your camp,”

“Hell no,”

“Polis may be in need of reinforcements if this is Azgeda coming-” 

“So we need to prepare- not send anyone capable of holding a weapon. If anybody is going to be evacuated, it ought to be the children, the elderly, and the sick,” 

“Who will need massive amounts of protection if they're to travel now. We can't spare the warriors-”

“So we're preparing for battle. What should I do?” 

“Clarke, be reasonable,” pleaded Lexa. 

“I can't just run, and leave the city to it's fate. Not now. The temple must be protected at all costs,” 

Lexa bowed her head, breathing rapidly, and ducking away from those hard, ice chip eyes- accusing her even with her own eyes closed against them. 

She turned away, putting her back to Clarke. Walking slowly away without looking back. Gradually, her breath slowed, as she mediated over the issue. Clarke remained silent, waiting, but she knew she wouldn't run away- no matter what Lexa decided. 

“Then that's where you will be stationed. Titus will bring the novitiates, and an unit of seconds. They, with the Order of the Flame will be inside as a last line of defense. My warriors will be stationed outside. If... all hope falls, enter the bunker, and seal it,” ordered Lexa. Clarke opened her mouth to cut in, but Lexa held up her hand, and glared sharply. “That's an order from your commander,” 

Clarke's upper lip curled back in a snarl, but she held silent as Lexa turned to Caliban, acknowledging him for the first time in this argument. 

“Caliban kom Trikru, your orders are to remain with Wanheda, and if the city falls, to bring her inside the bunker, and have it sealed- at any cost,”

The warrior's voice came from just behind Clarke- “Sha, heda,”. 

“We can fit twelve hundred people in that bunker- we can't seal it up with just a handful in there!” snapped Clarke, her silence finally shattering. 

“No, as you said, what we must not do is allow it to allow into Azgeda hands,” countered Lexa, her voice flat and monotone. 

 

Dawn - 86 days until the end (4 days after Azgeda meeting) 

(when Nia questions Roan as to why he has brought a healer, Remy, along for the procession,” 

“The last time an Azgeda prince rode north in winter without a royal healer, it did not end well,” rumbled Roan. 

“Go,” ordered Nia, scowling all the while. 

Roan left her. Turning his back upon the queen, without a nod, without farewell, and without even a glance. He could feel the spy crowding him at one side before he reached his horse. 

“That was a low blow- even for you,” hissed Echo. 

“My brother, my right. Not like you know anything of that, am I correct, spy? Have you even seen your brother since the sky princess freed you from the mountain?” growled Roan. 

She snarled, barely restraining her temper in respect of his position as the queen's son. 

He scoffed at the holding of her temper, and known vicious tongue. 

As he walked away, he looked back at the spy behind him. 

“You ought to,” he ordered lowly. 

“What?” she spat. 

“See your brother. Before he goes to war,” 

Echo's face remained scowling. 

“Is that an order, your highness?” - Echo. 

“I hear he has another son now,” - Roan. 

“Yes,” snapped Echo. A pause, she scowled again. “I've heard,” she corrected. 

As Roan returned to the front of the assembling riding party, Remy leaned close. 

“Was that truly wise?” 

He eyed the healer plainly. ““It's good for her to be reminded I am the last of King Theo's blood,” 

He mounted up, and gave the order for the rest to join him. 

He gazed out of the gates, to the capital. Fron Tenac spread out before him, from the chateau's gates, as far as the eye could see. 

Already, villagers were queuing up on either side of the main through-way- used by riders leaving the chateau. How they knew he'd be riding out today, he didn't know. But every time he'd ever left the palace he'd grown up for any journey, they'd done the same. They'd seen Cyril off the same way, when he'd left home and never returned. Their mother had not even allowed him to be brought home, but instead had returned the messengers who'd come with news of his death to have him carried straight to the capital's city of the dead. 

Royal guards had borne him to rest. 

Not even having his family bear him had she allowed the wayward prince. 

Seiku took up the place at the prince's side, looking to him. 

Roan eyed him carefully before greeting the warrior, one of the only ones he'd known before exile. 

“I am glad you are accompanying this journey,” rumbled the prince gravely. 

Seiku inclined his head in acknowledgment. 

 

Polis- The temple of the Order of the Flame 

The temple was oddly muted. Torches hoisted onto the walls provided extra light even in the fading late afternoon sun. The Order of the Flame had positioned themselves in the first room, spaced out evenly in rows, upon their knees, weapons in hand, kneeling silently in mediation, and lead the novitiates into joining them. Even Charlotte, with a long glance thrown at Clarke, had followed, kneeling on the other side of Gaia, opposite Aden, in the last row. The half-dozen seconds were standing at parade rest in the front row- Yulian kom Trikru, oddly flushed, among them. Clarke knew that Titus was at Lexa's side, while Nathan, and Wells were posted just outside the temple's main entrance along with several others at each entrance, and along the perimeter. 

Alone in the interior chamber, sitting with their backs against the wall behind the bunker's hatch, Caliban and Clarke waited. 

“I've been on Earth longer without him, than he was on Earth at all. I never wanted him to die for me,” 

“If Azgeda brings war, the coalition will fall. The ties are too frail between too many clans, and the heda's control only so strong now without the mountain to unite against,” explained Caliban. 

“I will back the coalition, and commander, and stand with Trikru if it comes to It, but will the clans really fall apart so badly?” 

 

“Delfikru is a prosperous clan, and a good ally of Trikru,” announced Clarke's escort blandly, with his eyes fixed ahead, watching the path before them. 

Clarke hesitated, chewing at her bottom lip. “Ulrin is a good man, I think,” she admitted uncertainly. 

He nodded heavily, without glancing over at her. “If I had a daughter, I would watch her join with him in peace,”. 

It was a benediction, Clarke thought, dazed at the sentiment. 

“But Trikru will not live to see you bound against your will, Wanheda. Marry who you will, or not, and your choice will be backed by steel, and blood if need be,” promised Caliban. 

Clarke leaned against his shoulder. 

“You're a good friend, Caliban kom Trikru,” she whispered. 

“Can the city hold against Azgeda?” asked Clarke. 

Caliban grunted. He took so long to answer, that Clarke didn't think he would. 

“The ice queen is bloodthirsty, and vicious. Her people have the choice of living in the relatively temperate southern regions of Azgeda, and every one of their number being trained as warriors from birth. Or living deeper into the north, where there is ice and snow even in summer, if they are not willing to fight in the army. She's aging, and her hold weakens as she grows too old to hold the army's loyalty... but with her son returned to her side... Azgeda will answer the call to arms. Every last one of them able to hold an ax. The prince has swayed matters in her favor,”

“So... the city will come down to how many clans will answer the commander's call?” realized Clarke. 

“Sha, Wanheda. If every clan stands true, we will far outnumber the ice nation, and can hold Polis. If not... Azgeda is as vicious as their queen,” murmured Caliban. 

“Of course, you know Azgeda, and I don't, but Prince Roan and I... we bound ourselves in blood as allies, before he returned to Azgeda,” 

“I know Azgeda,” agreed Caliban gruffly. “But not the prince,” he conceded. 

Somewhere outside the temple, a horn blew, and Caliban tensed, before rising to his feet. His sword in hand, he stood at the ready. Scrambling up, Clarke fidgeted with her own weaponry. Her sword sheathed at one side, and a handgun on her another hip, with a rifle slung over her shoulder, she gripped it so tight, she had to force herself to let it hang from it's strap when her hands began to cramp. 

“If the force is as small as was reported, they won't get anywhere near this temple,” vowed Caliban lowly. 

“Then why the lockdown?” 

Caliban let out a harsh sigh. “Runners can only tell what they know. Not the whole of anything,” 

On the limits of Polis 

Octavia's shoulders were taunt and pulled up high as she stalked forwards, awaiting disaster to strike. 

She led the way, with the heavy footsteps of a hundred people who'd gone soft, or been raised soft, on the rig, ratcheting up her nerves higher with each passing second. 

Leading the hundred chosen of Floukru into Polis was one of the least pleasant duties she'd undertaken on the ground- in this life, or the last. Not a single person over 40 had asked for a spot, but there were plenty of 30-somethings in the caravan- parents, healers, crafters... The sick, with chronic or terminal illnesses, though Octavia was sure that many of the illnesses weren't that dire as many that had chosen to remain behind were seemingly fine adults in their 20's or 30's. The disabled, too, had declared their intent to stay behind from the onset, some for things as minor as a limp remaining from a poorly healed knee injury. Some, simply, stepped away from the meeting Luna had presided over, asking the community to decide what to do about the limited spots. 

“Let the families go together”, one young man had murmured to Luna, before he left. 

So Floukru dwindled down to 100. 

And so they followed Luna, who walked beside Octavia serenely. 

Just inside the Polis limits 

“What are you doing here?” growled Lexa. 

Costia smirked slightly. “Waiting,”

“Go back to the centre,” - Lexa 

“Healers go where they must,” - Costia 

“But seconds obey,” snarled Lexa 

Costia shrugged her wrap off one side- revealing the fresh, midnight black ink around her left upper arm just below her shoulder. It was not the traditional healers' band of Trikru, but the crossed knives over a tiny bottle that sat dead center on the side of her arm which always made up the center of such bands. It was hastily done, lacking the details that could be added later, and painfully fresh- her dark skin obviously inflamed around it, and gleaming with an copious applied, green tinged ointment. 

“Sabine has released you,” murmured Lexa, aghast. 

Costia smiled, bright, and wolfish. 

“All hands, at ready,” reminded the young healer. 

“If the worst comes, you will be needed at the centre,” 

“If the worst comes, we will meet it here, together,” countered Costia kom Trikru. 

Lexa's hard mask slipped. Fracturing. Her eyes did not soften, but a fierce smile lit across her face. She reached out an arm, and waited for Costia to clasp it, before she drew the other girl into her embrace. Mindful of the fresh, inky wound, Lexa held her tight, breathing in the smell of her homun. 

When Costia stepped back, after letting Lexa hold her for several long moments, she flashed a hard smile, and together, they turned to wait. 

They listened to the horns blow when the force was spotted from just outside the city limits, but then, a whistle came. Lexa waited, wondering what the lack of noise meant. 

Finally, something, someone, broke through the overgrown paths that provided a naturally barrier for the capital. 

The commander was baffled at the sight of Octavia kom Skaikru, sweaty, dusty, weary, and as always, angry. Her black braids were tied up away from her neck, and her boots hit the ground with grudging force as she stomped through. 

But when the second figure emerged into the city limits, Lexa swore quietly, and griped Costia's hand briefly. 

Lexa did not stop until she stood just in front of Luna kom Floukru. 

The commander reached out, and gripped the other nightblood's arm, pulling her close. 

“Blood sister,” greeted Lexa firmly. 

Luna's eyes were wide, and she stood, unbalanced, not understanding. 

“Welcome home,” announced the commander as she released Luna and took a small step back. 

“What's happened to the city?” demanded Octavia. 

“Locked down to your lack of sending runners ahead with explanations for such a large caravan moving towards the capital,” growled Titus, looming over the group of young women. 

“Yea, well, this could have been avoided if you would have let me take a damn radio like I wanted,” snarled Octavia. 

“Enough!” Lexa's order roared over them. 

“Floukru will be fed, and rooms prepared for them here in the tower. There is much to be discussed, Sister,” continued Lexa, looking directly at the renegade nightblood. 

Luna nodded serenely, but Octavia saw the flashing of her dark eyes towards the tower.

“Yes, there is. Like all of Floukru knows. Because she told them. Which is why I couldn't spare even a single warrior to send them ahead, much less send any of Flourku ahead,” revealed Octavia grimly.

Titus jerked back as if struck, and Lexa's shoulders stiffened. 

Luna smiled, slow and spiteful. 

Lexa swallowed hard before nodding curtly.

“It doesn't change that the boat clan receives only a hundred spots- like every other clan. But come, let us talk inside, and have your people tended to. You must have made good time on a hard journey,” announced the commander. 

As Luna, and Octavia both started off for the tower, Lexa glanced to Titus. 

“Move our guests securely into the tower before you release the city from it's lockdown,” murmured Lexa quietly before she swept away in a swirl of her tattered scarlet cloak. 

85 days until the end 

Polis, a quarter past midnight 

The radio crackled to life- jolting the commander awake in her cold bed with ease. She crossed the room to the chest she had the radios locked in. 

“Polis! Clarke, Commander, anybody! Hundred Camp is evacuating. There's... there's Fire, as far as we can see. The forest's burning!” 

Bellamy kom Skaikru had never sounded so afraid, in all of Lexa's dual memories. 

Having watched both several of Skaikru, along with David kom Arkadia, use the tech devices, Lexa carefully responded, a bit hesitantly, “This is the Commander, I have heard your message. Go to Ton DC, they will take you in,” assured Lexa. 

The radio crackled with words coming through for several seconds, before she heard coughing, and finally, Bellamy's voice again. 

“Commander, I don't think you understand, even from the top of the dropship, all we see is fire in every direction... I don't... I don't know we're going to make it out of here-”

“Cover your nose, and mouths, as you did to protect yourselves from the mountain's gas. Walk low, or crawl, but move swiftly,” ordered Lexa sharply... 

“Why aren't they responding?” 

Never before had Lexa ever allowed so many people, for any reason, to enter her private chambers. Yet now- most of the Skaikru currently in Polis, along with Titus, and Indra were crowded around the trunk she'd used to lock away the radios. It was now being used as a table. 

Monty fidgted with the radio. “Smoke can cause interference sometimes,” 

“How much smoke does it take?” Clarke asked, flat and miserable. 

“A lot,” he admitted. 

“Azgeda,” hissed Lexa, “this is Azgeda's play,” 

“there will be more to Azgeda's strategy that burning Skaikru land,” Indra said. 

Wells tried the radio again.

Nothing. 

Clarke made for the door, “Ok, ok, I'm leaving. Now.” 

“I'm having a party readied, but-”

“Send them after me, but I'm going now,” 

Miller ran after her, first, and easily caught up with her. Together, they rushed for the lift, their boots pounding on the dirt-covered marble floors, and downwards. 

Blood was rushing in her ears. Fire. All we can see is fire, all around us. Clarke's calloused hands shook. 

“Nathan's coming with me, and Charlotte, too. You, stay with Octavia,” decided Clarke, as she threw her cloth and leather saddle hastily across her shying mare. 

All around her, the stables were flaring to life in bursts of quick activity. Clarke was leaving now, but she knew Lexa was sending out men, who'd been given an hour to prepare. That was fine. It would take an hour to have twenty men, and their horses, and extra supplies for gods only knew what awaited them, readied. More would follow- healers were now being woken, and runners being sent out across the expansion of Trikru lands. Fire was a late summer, and early fall's problem. Late winter, when only the evergreens had leaves left to catch, and the forest floor had been soaked by snow so many times, it was never a time fires troubled them much. 

Whispers filled the stable, Azgeda. 

“Gaia will be riding with you. She wished to visit Mount Weather, so she can purify it.” explained Wells with a brief twitch that might have been a smile. 

“I will assist however I am able,” added the girl in question, looking up through her lashes at Clarke. 

“Safety in numbers, right? Sounds good.” said Clarke, and she flashed a smile at them, trying to aim for a patience she didn't feel. 

“And, uh, the commander gave us back the radios,” continued Wells, a bit sheepishly, handing one over to her. 

Clarke grasped it gratefully, offering a pained smile to her once-best friend. 

By the time Clarke was mounted, and made it to the city limits, the riding party had grown larger than she'd expected. She, Miller, Caliban, and Gaia were joined by Charlotte, and Yulian, as both seconds had thrown themselves onto their horses hastily, but also Lincoln, leading a unit of Lexa's warriors that he'd been able to ready in time. 

Towards Hundred Camp, and the fire, Clarke set a punishing pace, but everyone already knew there was nothing they could really do. 

It would take too long to reach home.


	7. I See Fire

Chapter 7 

I See Fire 

85 days till the end 

Hundred Camp 

Zoe Monroe hadn't quite volunteered. It was more that she informed Atom that she would be taking the midnight watch shift, permanently. With the ice nation clearly an enemy of the coalition they found themselves within, the watch was bumped back up to the pre-fall of Mt. Weather priority level. The first night she'd showed up for the 10pm shift change, Atom had assigned her the platform beside the gate- effectively designating her the shift's leader. 

Really, the shift wasn't too bad. Atom had to scramble, and threaten, to fill the ranks for the shift, as everyone wanted the late morning, mid-day, or afternoon shifts. It meant she mostly had under her charge either the most dedicated, or the most in trouble. Either way, it meant they didn't bother messing with Monroe. She even liked the midnight shift, truthfully. That was at least partially because she got to listen as camp shut down each night, and silence grudgingly fell. Then she could listen to the hooting of owls, somehow swooping just overhead, and the scurrying racket of little nocturnal beasts. Otherwise, she liked it because of how little she saw of Bellamy since she took it on. Thanks to the mad genius mechanic, the clock in the dropship ran off the solar panels on the roof, and alarms went off every four hours for the watch schedule. The watch was the only thing anybody used the clock for anymore. Somehow marking time by the light of the day was easier. Jasper and Atom were both alright, and they were the two who traded off getting up at the 2am alarm to rouse the early morning shift. Whichever of the two's turn it was took over the gate tower from her, and she was just glad that Bellamy only ever took the late morning or midday shifts. 

The number on shift varied, by how many people could be dragged onto duty in the middle of the night, but Atom always tried to have at least 5 per shift since the summit. Mostly, people didn't see how the faraway incident would translate to their little camp in the forest, so it was harder than it ought to be. Sometimes Atom ended up taking three, or even four shifts a day to keep them all covered. Monroe might be willing to endure an extra shift, except that with the afternoon hunting, and the midnight watch, she slept hard all morning even with all the noise of the hundred that began at dawn. The midnight shift was frigid, and up on the tower, she didn't get to pace around to keep warm and stretched out. So by 2am, she was sore and stiff enough that she just wanted to sleep. 

Burning through the night with careful tending, the torch hoisted on the metal rail of the tower offered a little heat at least. Once the camp hid away in the cabin and dropship, the main fire was let to burn low, under the watchers care, till morning. With the heavy fog tonight, she couldn't even see the low fire very well, much less feel any warmth from it so far away. 

Around the camp, the trees were thick, so she couldn't see much of the stars except just above her. They didn't look like home anymore anyway. Into the silence of the night, Monroe coughed. The fog was thickening, and it had been a dry dusty night, with the wind howling in her ears to begin with. Usually, the cold, dry nights felt bracing- as if it was easier to stay awake in the crisp, cold air that kept her lungs aware of every inhale, but tonight, Monroe didn't even notice as she became more sluggish. Her head ached. The watcher rubbed at her stings. Dust must have gotten into them from the wind. Huffing out a breathe, she leaned upon the tower's rail. It held her weight, and she closed her stinging eyes. 

Tucked into the dropship, the dozen or so occupants rolled and trembled, snuffling in their troubled sleep. Their restlessness building. The thick dropship door lay open upon the ground. The parachute curtains blew inwards. 

The sole cabin in the camp held the mostly quiet, slumbering masses. It was a dry night following a dry week or more, so the tarps, made from old parachutes, had been tied up out of the way to let in fresh air. Even as awkwardly set as the rough, but thick door, and the slated, barred windows they offered more protection. In tight huddled rows, the dozens of teenagers slept. This early into the night, nightmares had yet to wake any of them. Mumbles and groans, hinted at a growing unease. 

Eyes still closed, drifting somewhere between sleep and muddled consciousness, Zoe sniffled. She still leaned wearily upon the scrap metal rail. Her chest heaved, and a whimper escaped, startling her a bit closer to awake. But her eyes were still burning and heavy, and she let them close again. Then jerked awake, nearly going head first over the rail despite how high it was compared to her. Something had woken her, but what? Something.. 

Someone. 

Yelling. 

Coughing thickly, her chest heaved in pain. Tried to remember what she'd heard. Her nose was running, she realized. A lazy swipe with her sleeve. The fog was just too thick, she thought. Another sound. 

Someone was yelling, she was right. 

Monroe turned to look around to figure out where it came from, and her foot slipped.

Grabbing the rail, she was barely hanging on as she fell. Gasping for breathe, she scrambled back up onto the platform again. Someone was yelling. More than one person? She couldn't figure it out- the words sounded muffled. 

Her watchers, Zoe understood, finally. 

Hollering their names, she stuttered after the first two. Who else was on duty with her tonight? Monroe jumped down from the tower. Though she'd done it hundreds of times, her knees buckled and she hit the ground. First crying out in pain and surprise, she then lay there, coughing. Her feet didn't feel like obeying. She struggled up, and tried to shake the ringing out of her ears. Her watchers were screaming, and getting louder No, closer. Coming in from the back perimeter. Her throat burning, Monroe yelled back to them, still not able to make out their words. She ran to try to find them. Any of them. Coughing hit again. 

Behind the dropship, she found two of the four. The fog was so thick it was hard to see them till she nearly tripped over something. 

Still yelling hoarsely, one of the youngest watchers, Cade, was on his knees. The boy was shaking the body slumped down on the hard, dry dirt. Monroe grabbed at the fallen watcher, and helped Cade haul him up. Sterling struggled to lift his head, and mumbled something, low, and thick. Cade was muttering something, trying to tell her something as they pulled Sterling forward. Monroe kept trying to understand. Her head throbbed, and Sterling's mouth moved with no sound, Cade was coughing again. When they made it to the corner of the dropship, and she tried to drag Sterling around it, Cade planted his feet. He let go of the other boy's shoulder. Sterling fell upon Monroe. With the weight of the taller kid solely upon her, she went sideways. The dropship wall braced her up at least. Cade pointed back. Monroe grappled with her grip on Sterling. The younger boy reached over, and smacked clumsily at her shoulder. When she looked upon, she saw Cade pointing, back from where he'd come. With her hands full as she tried to keep Sterling upright, her stinging eyes and running nose wet her face. Craning her neck, Monroe finally looked out over the back wall. The younger watcher's words finally hit her. 

“I see fire!” 

Through the bare trees, and sparse evergreens, she saw hell in the distance. Glowing orange and red, lighting up the forest, terrifying close. 

There was no fog tonight.

It was smoke.

And it was already choking them. 

“We've got to get everyone into the dropship!” she cried, her burning throat making her hoarse, forcing the words out anyway. 

Cade grabbed Sterling's collar, and began dragging him around the corner. 

Through the dropship's entryway, and into the corner set aside as a medbay, they dropped Sterling onto the metal floor. On some level, Monroe registered that he didn't even make a sound. She tried yelling to wake the restlessly sleeping row- Bellamy, Atom, Collette, and Jasper... and Monroe couldn't remember who else, nor make out their identities from the row of furs and blankets. Her throat ached, and the air in here was thick- contaminated with the curtain blowing in. Monroe pulled a knife from her boot, and slammed it's blunter side into the metal table. The sound of metal on metal clanged, and echoed through the lower level of the ship. She did it again. Another, till Bellamy was grumbling, and rising from his spot on the end of the sleeping row. He shook the shoulder of the guy at his side, Atom, Monroe realized a heartbeat later, when the other watcher stumbled to his feet even he even really opened his eyes. 

“Fire,” croaked Cade, and Monroe nodded, watching to see that Bellamy understood, before she ran back out into the smoke. The cabin had to be woken. So intent upon this, she didn't even realize when the sound of Cade, then Bellamy, and Atom's, and others still, more slowly, followed after her. 

At the cabin's front door, she paused, coughing, bent over, trying to fight it and losing the battle. Tears streamed from her eyes, and her throat... the pain scorched. Large hands gripped her shoulders. Monroe flinched, but let herself be pulled upright as the fit eased. Her eyes stung too much to open, till she felt cloth pressing onto her face. Blinking quickly, she found Bellamy leaning in close, and wrapping soft cloth, torn from a shirt, around her mouth, and nose. His hands brushed her cheeks, and then she felt the tug as he tied it behind her head. 

“Thanks,” she muttered, before ducking around him to throw open the heavy door. She let it slam into the wall behind it, knowing that would at least start the process of waking everyone. 

Evacuating the cabin was faster than she'd feared. Few of the dozens of kids here seemed as muddled as the watch shift, or even the dropship residents. They grabbed food, and weapons, and their own furs, and blankets, and packs, carrying everything they within reach into the ship as they scurried. 

Bellamy waited till everyone was up, before heading back to the dropship, calling out orders for water, and meat, to be brought in by anyone who could handle another trip out into the thickening smoke. Three trips out was all he could do, and as Atom began to cough up blood, Bellamy waited at the door for the inward flow to cease. He counted to ten, and again, and when no one else appeared into sight from the layers of smoke, he threw the lever. As the door slowly rose, and thudded shut with a finality, Bellamy whispered a prayer that he hadn't left anyone outside. With the smoke burning their throats, and the noise of everyone moving about inside the echoing dropship, it'd been a hard bet if they'd hear someone from outside if they called out. 

Water was drank from buckets, and waterskins, and jugs, passed around. The coughing didn't end, but at least, Bellamy hoped, it wouldn't get worse. 

Collette yelled for everyone to sit down, and sit still, for a headcount. She went around, counting out loud, slow, and low. Once she was sure, she returned to Bellamy, still standing beside the door's control, and repeated the headcount anxiously. Squinting against the growing headache, Bellamy slowly, carefully, recalled the numbers of those away, and then repeated their names, slowly... Octavia, Clarke, Wells, Miller, Raven, Wick, Monty, Harper... 

“Yeah, not counting them, that's everyone,” decided Bellamy. Collette's shoulders dropped in relief, and she left Bellamy alone, going back to where she'd counted Mary, in the medbay corner, between Jasper and Bree. 

Bellamy dropped to the floor to sit underneath the lever. Everyone was accounted for. Someone pushed a twisted, ugly metal cup of cool water into his hand. Automatically, he drank. The water stung, but then, it soothed. He needed to call Polis. In a minute. 

 

Azgeda 

The night was clear, and the stars were bright. Bright enough, with the nearly full moon, in fact, to travel by. Sunset had passed them by some six hours or so ago. None of his companions had dared do more than grumble too low for him to make out the words. The darkness hadn't been the only reason for their slow pace, anyway. It had been three years since he'd been free to walk this land, and the place he sought was purposefully... out of the way, to begin with. It had taken time, and wrong paths, to find it. There were many blackened, ivy covered massive relics here, a city from before, lain to waste, and the air was heavy with ghosts. Roan held up a hand, and called out for a halt. Answering groans greeted the reprieve, but he was certain they did not yet know where they were. 

After a couple hours rest as they'd ate from their packs, Roan had pushed his procession half through the night to put as much distance between himself, and Fron Tenac, as they could. Home, he thought, bitterness creeping in. Within his grasp, and gone again, just that swiftly. 

Here though, he dismounted. Eyed the thick brush before him. The overgrowth was promising. With a sharp tug upon the bridle, and a steady heave upon the leads, he pulled his reluctant horse into it. 

“Roan, is this-” began the healer, muted by exhaustion, and distrust, but she broke off. 

Seiku was already following the prince. 

Behind them, Roan heard machetes being drawn, and whacking, in the dark, to clear a path. He hadn't bothered to do so, and wasn't quite happy about it being done. It would drawn too much notice to forbid such however. He let it go. It was not as if there was a current need for stealth. Not when he traveled with royal guards in his retinue. No commoners would trouble him. Truthfully, Roan thought, if he was to die tonight, or on this procession, it'd more likely be poison in his cup. A slit throat while he slept. An ax buried into his spine under the cover of darkness. At his mother's orders. 

In the darkness, it had been difficult to make out one ivy covered hulking ruin from another, but when they made it through the brush, to see the great, arched opening, wide enough for four horses, and tall enough for a man three times over... Roan knew he'd found it. 

The walls rose greyish and blackened, four stories high, and blanketed with winding, prickly ivy. There was no roof, much less covered windows or doorways. If a floor remained, it was buried under so many layers of dirt, leaves, and moss that there was no sign of it. He continued inside anyway, hesitating long enough for the few men who carried torches to catch up, and took one from them. The massive open space could have sat hundreds of men in close ranks. 

Only a few feet inside the hall, all the way to left wall, sat a rusty, long, iron rack. There Roan tied his horse, at the farthest point from the yawning archway. Tack loosened, he left the gelding there and moved away to allow the others to follow his example. 

Striding confidently towards the back of the great hall, he wondered if this place had been disturbed in the years he'd been gone. No sign of it appeared. Yet that could have been by design. 

Long before it had been an outpost for his grandfather's army, this place had been something grand, but all that had survived was the name. Notredame. 

The pair of towers offered only higher walls, with gaping holes, and the shadows of greatness passed. 

A narrow gap of a space, where two walls seemed to meet, but didn't, offering a shadowed hall, and a handful of small rooms, that even a degree of their ceilings left. All the way down the hall, till he now stood at the far corner from where he'd entered the back chamber, Roan turned into the last of the doors. The last time he'd been here, he hadn't known he'd been gone three years. 

Roan smirked at the sight. 

Looking untouched, chest, and deer skinned wrapped bundles lined the walls. The lot was protected not just by the half of a ceiling that remained. Thinking ahead, he'd covered the floor in here with skins atop the thick moss. Then rigged up tents to cover most of the room, just high enough for him to walk beneath. The coverings were rotting by now, he knew by the smell. It appeared that they'd done their job long enough for him to return. Crossing the doorway, Roan bent to check the heavy, iron locks upon each chest, and laughed, low, and deep in his chest. Intact. The key weighed little, but he felt it's presence around his neck anyway. All made to accept the same key, by his order. 

Ghosts might waft through the air of the forgotten cities, as the stories of the ice nation claimed, but that was protection in it's own ways. All the protection his hoard had needed. If war came, he had the coin, and the gold, and the jewels to buy some loyalty for himself. With a smirk lingering, he turned on his heel. 

Outside, into the main hall, he eyed the company- Remy tending to the horses, and Seiku watching silently as the rest laid out bedrolls throughout the hall. 

“Rest, till I wake,” barked Roan. The hall fell still. “Remy, we're sleeping back here. Now,” he added. 

Hesitating, Remy her pack up from the ground beside the horses, and glanced over at the sight of the royal guards leering. 

“Seiku, at the back,” ordered Roan, his eyes not own the captain, but the rest. 

Stiffening, her shoulders, she crossed the length of the hall, ignoring them all. Seiku grabbed his own, and the prince's, packs. Behind the healer, he carried them towards Roan. Half-way across the long, wide hall, he took a torch from one of the sentries. 

Remy slid around the prince's wide shoulders, with a sharp glare at his smug face, to venture into the darkness. Roan lingered long enough to accept his pack from Seiku, and watch the warrior lay out his, directly beside the narrow opening that led to the back corridor. The space was quite effectively blocked. With nods between them, Roan left to follow the healer, who'd only made it a few steps down the hallway without light. 

“All the wall to the other end,” he prompted her. 

She didn't turn to face him, but with the torchlight helping, she continued on. The corridor was long, and narrow, musty, and half-covered by a sagging ceiling. An unpleasant crunch beneath one of her boots did not help. 

At the far end, Roan grunted to point out the room, which still had half a stinking wood door hanging from one, rusted hinge. As he held the torch up in the doorway, the tiny room's contents came into sight. Remy gasped, but a sharp nudge at her shoulder quieted her. Got her moving back inside. The royal healer might listen long enough for an explanation, the prince hoped. 

 

Hundred Camp 

“What are we gonna do?” 

The shout came from deep in the crowd. It was echoed desperately. 

Bellamy tried the radio again. In vain. The call had ended, and he hadn't been able to get it to work again. He swallowed. Hard. Winced at the burst of pain it brought. 

“We can't stay here,” he announced, his eyes stung, and throat throbbed as proof. 

In the dead, panicked silence that met his words, all eyes fell upon him. 

But protests rose up, only seconds later. Frantic cries tore from scratchy throats, as the implication hit them. 

Leave the dropship. 

“The back walls are already getting hot,” yelled Atom. It cost him another coughing fit, and from close at his side, Collette eyed the flecks of blood that landed on the sleeve he covered his mouth with. She rose her gaze to meet Bellamy's. 

“Everybody got a look, right? A fire this big isn't just gonna stop,” growled Bellamy, his voice rougher with each word. He pushed through the crush of kids towards the medbay. 

Ignoring the volley of denial and protest, of terror, around him, he grabbed what he could, beginning to add to the packs he could reach. He moved to the little makeshift cabinet Clarke tended to so carefully. There was a wide, deer hide pack, empty, beside it, and Bellamy grabbed a couple handfuls of bandages to throw into the bottom of the pack. Then he began dropping the breakable contents inside, and more carefully, tucked Clarke's notebooks inside. Someone scooted past him. Bellamy looked over to see Jasper adding things to his own pack, with a crooked smile when their eyes caught. 

As they strapped the packs across their shoulders, Bellamy turned away, letting Mary help Jasper. 

“Pair up, and get ready to move out. We'll head for Ton DC,” ordered Bellamy, above the din. He had to repeat himself twice before they all heard. 

“But there's fire that way!” yelled someone faceless in the crowd. 

“There's fire in every direction!” another cut in. 

“Like it's encircling us, on purpose!” 

“Shut up!” hollered Monroe. Her head was still pounding, and the yelling was making it worse. 

“Yeah. It is all around us. That's why we can't stay here!” 

Bellamy's words didn't calm the frenzy at all. Someone broke from the crowd, pushing others of their way, and scurried up the ladder. Another kid followed, and soon, half the crowd was jostling for position trying to get upwards.

“Heat rises!” yelped Jasper. “Heat RISES! That's worse! No, no, no, bad idea!” 

“It's a dropship! Made to survive heat. We survived in it to get down here!” countered Bree, desperately, from the near the top of the ladder. 

“Most of the tech's dead, and we don't have anyone to fix that!” Bellamy reminded harshly. 

“It's still smarter than going out there!” yelled another of the watchers, having elbowed another kid in the gut to get up onto the ladder quicker. 

“I can't drag you all, but dammit, be smart about this!” yelled Bellamy.


End file.
